“You may say so indeed, madam,” said Juno.

“Raw beefsteak’s jolly good for your eye,” observed the Briton.

This suggestion did not appear to be heard by Juno.

“I had a row with a chap,” the Briton continued.  He’s my best friend now.  He made me put raw beefsteak—­”

“I thank you,” interrupted Juno.  “He requires no beefsteak, raw or cooked.”

The face of the Briton reddened.  “Too groggy to eat, is he?”

Mrs. Trevise tinkled her bell.  “Daphne!  I have said to you twice to hand those yams.”

“I done handed ’em twice, ma’am.”

“Hand them right away, Daphne, and don’t be so forgetful.”  It was not easy to disturb the composure of Mrs. Trevise.

The poetess now took up the broken thread.  “Had I a son,” she declared, “I would sooner witness him starve than hear him take orders from a menial race.”

“But mightn’t starving be harder for him to experience than for you to witness, y’ know?” asked the Briton.

At this one of the et ceteras made a sort of snuffing noise, and ate his dinner hard.

It was the male honeymooner who next spoke.  “Must have been quite a tussle, ma’am.”

“It was an infamous onslaught!” repeated Juno.  “Wish I’d seen it!” sighed the honeymooner.

His bride smiled at him beamingly.  “You’d have felt right lonesome to be out of it, David.”

“No apology has yet been offered,” continued Juno.

“But must your nephew apologize besides taking a licking?” inquired the Briton.

Juno turned an awful face upon hint.  “It is from his brutal assailant that apologies are due.  Mr. Mayrant’s family” (she paused here for blighting emphasis) “are well-bred people, and he will be coerced into behaving like a gentleman for once.”

I checked an impulse here to speak out and express my doubts as to the family coercion being founded upon any dissatisfaction with John’s conduct.

“I wonder if reading or recitation might not soothe your nephew?” said the poetess, now.

“I should doubt it,” answered Juno.  “I have just come from his bedside.”

“I should so like to soothe him, if I could,” the poetess murmured.  “If he were well enough to hear my convention ode—­”

“He is not nearly well enough,” said Juno.

The et cetera here coughed and blew his nose so remarkably that we all started.

A short silence followed, which Juno relieved.

“I will give the young ruffian’s family the credit they deserve,” she stated.  “The whole connection despises his keeping the position.”

Another et cetera now came into it.  “Is it known what exactly precipitated the occurrence?”

Juno turned to him.  “My nephew is a gentleman from whose lips no unworthy word could ever fall.’

“Oh!” said the et cetera, mildly.  “He said something, then?”