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They even imitate occasionally the "little language" of the great satirist; if Swift was Presto, Kinglake is "Poor dear me"; if Stella was M. D., Madame Novikoff is "My dear Miss." This last endearment was due to an incident at a London dinner table. A story told by Hayward, seasoned as usual with gros sel, amused the more sophisticated English ladies present, but covered her with blushes.
A little while she babbled of the trouble and pain she had given them. "You and poor dad! If only I could have yelled out in time!" "To get a knife in you, my dear no, it's been all just right. Why, we should never have got the Dope of the Gods back, without you."
"Shall I really have to have this strange girl?" I asked, addressing nobody in particular and not expecting a reply. "You need not have her," said the Man of Wrath composedly, "but you will. You will write to-day and cordially invite her, and when she has been here twenty-four hours you will quarrel with her. I know you, my dear." "Quarrel! I? With a little art-student?"
We were confidential enough now to tell each other of our homes, and she had sat so long demurely silent, that Matilda ventured upon the inquiry "Don't you talk much at your home?" "Oh yes," said Eleanor "at least, when we've anything to say;" and I am sure no irony was intended in the reply. "What are you knitting, my dear?" said Aunt Theresa.
Between these two countries our political philosophers institute a comparison. They find the Briton better off than the Pole; and they immediately come to the conclusion that the Briton is so well off because his bread is dear, and the Pole so ill off because his bread is cheap.
Should he lose a dear relative by death, he is not to break out with cries and lamentations like the heathen. Lamentation for the dead is most strictly forbidden in Islam. "We are God's people and to God we return" says the pious Muslim on receiving the unexpected news of a death.
"No," was the reply; "I have not been in your room since yesterday." "Nor you, Aunt Hannah?" "No, my dear. What book is missing?" "It was entitled 'The Siberian Exile." "Good gracious!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "Wasn't that the book you found the letter in?" "Yes." "And you say it is missing?" "It has mysteriously disappeared."
This young woman, who had been accustomed to reign over most of the men about her, felt, in her newly-learned humility, a sense of elation from merely having been a little while in the presence of the man whom she loved. She reflected on his musing smile, had no thought that it concerned her, and hoped nothing better than that he might never find out how dear he was to her.
He wrote to them saying that they were to 'seal and ratify' his marriage, and 'help to pronounce the benediction. Above all he rejoiced to be able to see his 'dear father and mother' at the feast. Among the motives for his marrying he especially mentioned that he had felt himself bound to fulfil an old duty, in accordance with his father's wishes.
As the lady led the way into the parlor, she said, "What is that you have in your hand, my dear?" "You used to admire Madame Conquilla's shell-work," replied Flora," and I have brought you some of mine, to see whether you think I succeed tolerably in my imitations." As she spoke, she took out a small basket and poised it on her finger. "Why, that is perfectly beautiful!" said Mrs. Delano.
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