[Footnote 25:  This rule was observed by Abdul Medjid, the late sultan, of whom I speak.  It is said that his successor has broken through this restriction to a considerable extent, and is a social being.]

MADEMOISELLE STYLITES.

I.

The discussion between Mr. John Woodstock and his sister was becoming animated, and their aunt, who never could understand the difference between a discussion and a quarrel, was listening anxiously, expecting every moment to see Marjory flounce out of the room at one door, and John at the other, in their respective furies.  It began in this way:  John had just read a notice of an extraordinary concert to come off the next week, and had pushed the paper over to Marjory, with the remark, “Like to go, Peg?”

She.  Of course I should like to go!  You don’t mean to say you have tickets for it? (Excitedly.)

He.  No, of course I don’t:  I am not a thief.

She.  No, you are only the next thing to it—­a shabby fellow.  Why did you ask me in that way when you knew we couldn’t go?

He.  How you do jump at lame and impotent conclusions!  Who said we could not go?  I am sure I did not.

She.  John Woodstock, if you don’t stop this, and tell me what you mean, I will never make you another shirt!

He.  Small loss!  Of all mean things, a homemade shirt is the meanest; and why a man of my native nobility of character should be condemned to wear them—­

Their aunt (distressedly).  Children! children!—­

He (soothingly).  Never mind, aunty:  she did not mean it.  She would not put it out of her power to say that she had made every shirt I ever wore for all the mines of Golconda.

She.  What a small potato you are!

He.  Now, my dear Marjory, how often must I tell you that calling a fellow names is not arguing?  If you could keep from being abusive for five minutes, you might hear of something to your advantage.  I have a little money, for a wonder, but it is like the turkey—­too much for one, and not enough for two.  You cannot go by yourself, for it is an evening affair; but if you were not so frightfully vain about your personal appearance, I think we could manage it.  I heard you say yesterday that you had the money for a new pair of gloves:  if you will sacrifice them, we can go, and in two weeks I can give you the gloves besides.  I can’t before, for my princely income is at present heavily mortgaged.  Can you furbish up your old ones till then, and thereby prove yourself sensible for once?

She.  You are a pretty good boy, after all; but really I have not a decent pair to my name:  that last pair of light ones got lemonade all over them, and it took the color out, of course.

He.  Now I’ll tell you what!  I can take them for you on my way down town, and leave them to be dyed, and then you can do some fancy-work on their backs; and what more do you want?