He strolled across the grass, and joined his hostess.
"Now I call this a shame!" exclaimed the good lady, "you don't tell me that you are all by yourself, captain, and no one trying to make themselves agreeable to you! Oh, fie! this will never do--and you, so to speak, the lion of the party." "Pray don't say that, Mrs.Meadowsweet, I hate being a lion." "But you can't help it, my good young sir.

You, who represent our Gracious Sovereign Lady's Army.

Now, where's that girl of mine?
Beatrice! Trixie! Bee!" Captain Bertram was amazed at the shrill and far-sounding quality of Mrs.Meadowsweet's voice.

It distressed him, for anything not ultra refined jarred upon this sensitive young officer's nerves; but he trusted that the result would be satisfactory, and that Beatrice, whose motions he began to liken to a poem, would put in a speedy appearance.
She was talking to Mr.Jones, however, and when her mother called her, she and the curate approached together.
"Beatrice, this poor young man--Captain Bertram, the hero of the evening, is all alone.

Not a soul to amuse him or entertain him." "Mother, you mistake," answered Beatrice, "Captain Bertram is being entertained by you." "Hoots, child! What should an old lady have to say to a gay young lad ?" "Plenty, I assure you.