"Rich, silly," said Mr, Boyne Sillery, "what rational man could wish for a more pattern wife? I am now going to Kensington Gardens to meet her, where, by the by, I also expect Miss Arundel—one rival queen is often useful with another."
"Well," said Captain Sinclair, "I think I should be amused by a scene between your sylph and your gnome: my cabriolet waits at the corner; shall I drive you?"
"Agreed," rejoined Mr. Sillery, pausing a moment to make choice of two seals, one a kneeling Cupid—and to decide whether it was an apple or a heart which he held in his hand, would have puzzled an anatomist or a naturalist—with the motto à vous: the other, an equally corpulent Cupid chained, the inscription "at your feet." "I always consider," observed our calculating cavalier, "billets the little god's best artillery: the perfumed paper is a personal compliment, and your fair correspondent always applies the seal to herself: like the knights of old, I look to my arms."
A prolonged gaze on the mirror opposite, a satisfactory smile, and our two adventurers left the shop—like Pizarro, intent on a golden conquest. Emily's lip was a little bitten, and
