"You look sadly tired, sir."
"Why, yes, madam. It is a long way from Lambeth Walk, and it is passing
hot, madam." He took his handkerchief out, and was about to wipe his
brow, but returned it hastily to his pocket. "I beg your pardon, madam,"
said Triplet, whose ideas of breeding, though speculative, were severe,
"I forgot myself."
Mabel looked at him, and colored, and slightly hesitated. At last she
said: "I'll be bound you came in such a hurry you forgot--you mustn't be
angry with me--to have your dinner first!"
For Triplet looked like an absurd wolf-- all benevolence and starvation!
"What divine intelligence!" thought Trip. "How strange, madam," cried he,
"you have hit it! This accounts, at once, for a craving I feel. Now you
remind me, I recollect carving for others, I did forget to remember
myself. Not that I need have forgot it to-day, madam; but, being used to
forget it, I did not remember not to forget it to-day, madam, that was
all." And the author of this intelligent account smiled very, very, very
absurdly.
She poured him out a glass of wine. He rose and bowed; but peremptorily
refused it, with his tongue--his eye drank it.
"But you must," persisted this hospitable lady.
"But, madam, consider I am not entitled to-- Nectar, as I am a man!"
The white hand was filling his plate with partridge pie: "But, madam, you
don't consider how you overwhelm me with your-- Ambrosia, as I am a
poet!"
"I am sorry Mr.
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