"Have you had a pleasant day?" asked Rose, looking at him intently, as he stood pondering over the cigar and match which he held, as if doubtful which to strike and which to smoke.
"Day? oh, yes, capital. About two thousand calls, and a nice little supper at the Club. Randal can't sing any more than a crow; but I left him with a glass of champagne upside-down trying to give them my old favorite,—
"''Tis better to laugh than be sighing;'"
and Charlie burst forth in that bacchanalian melody at the top of his voice, waving an allumette-holder over his head to represent Randal's inverted wine-glass.
"Hush! you'll wake aunty," cried Rose, in a tone so commanding that he broke off in the middle of a roulade to stare at her with a blank look, as he said apologetically,—
"I was merely showing how it should be done. Don't be angry, dearest—look at me as you did this morning, and I'll swear never to sing another note if you say so. I'm only a little gay—we drank your health handsomely, and they all congratulated me. Told 'em it wasn't out yet. Stop, though—I didn't mean to mention that. No matter—I'm always in a scrape; but you always forgive me in the sweetest way. Do it now, and don't be angry, little darling;" and, dropping the vase, he went toward her with a sudden excitement that made her shrink behind the chair.
