“Nothing, nothing, my dear Darrell.  This betise of a war has made us all serious.  If old Clamstandt had not married that gipsy little Dugiria, I really think I should have taken a turn to Belgrade.”

“You should not eat so much, poppet,” drawled Charles Annesley to the Spaniard.

“Why not?” said the little French lady, with great animation, always ready to fight anybody’s battle, provided she could get an opportunity to talk.  “Why not, Mr. Annesley?  You never will let anybody eat—­I never eat myself, because every night, having to talk so much, I am dry, dry, dry—­so I drink, drink, drink.  It is an extraordinary thing that there is no language which makes you so thirsty as French.  I always have heard that all the southern languages, Spanish and Italian, make you hungry.”

“What can be the reason?” seriously asked the pseudo Lady Afy.

“Because there is so much salt in it,” said Lord Squib.

“Delia,” drawled Mr. Annesley, “you look very pretty to-night!”

“I am charmed to charm you, Mr. Annesley.  Shall I tell you what Lord Bon Mot said of you?”

“No, ma mignonne!  I never wish to hear my own good things.”

“Spoiled, you should add,” said Lady Squib, “if Bon Mot be in the case.”

“Lord Bon Mot is a most gentlemanly man,” said Delia, indignant at an admirer being attacked.  “He always wants to be amusing.  Whenever he dines out, he comes and sits with me half an hour to catch the air of Parisian badinage.”

“And you tell him a variety of little things?” asked Lord Squib, insidiously drawing out the secret tactics of Bon Mot.

“Beaucoup, beaucoup,” said Delia, extending two little white hands sparkling with gems.  “If he come in ever so—­how do you call it? heavy—­not that—­in the domps—­ah! it is that—­if ever he come in the domps, he goes out always like a soufflee.”

“As empty, I have no doubt,” said Lady Squib.

“And as sweet, I have no doubt,” said Lord Squib; “for Delcroix complains sadly of your excesses, Delia.”

“Mr. Delcroix complain of me!  That, indeed, is too bad.  Just because I recommended Montmorency de Versailles to him for an excellent customer, ever since he abuses me, merely because Montmorency has forgot, in the hurry of going off, to pay his little account.”

“But he says you have got all the things,” said Lord Squib, whose great amusement was to put Delia in a passion.

“What of that?” screamed the little lady.  “Montmorency gave them to me.”

“Don’t make such a noise,” said the Bird of Paradise.  “I never can eat when there is a noise.  St. James,” continued she, in a fretful tone, “they make such a noise!”

“Annesley, keep Squib quiet.”

“Delia, leave that young man alone.  If Isidora would talk a little more, and you eat a little more, I think you would be the most agreeable little ladies I know.  Poppet! put those bonbons in your pocket.  You should never eat sugar-plums in company.”