occasion she had not expressed her wish for her tea by saying that she should like a pint or two of that Chinese fluid.
"My mother believes I can't be spoiled," said Florimond, giving a little push with his toe to the stick that he had placed in the embers; after which he sank back into his chair, while Mrs. Mesh resumed possession of her own. "I am ever fresh,—ever pure."
"You are ever conceited. I don't see what you find so extraordinary in Boston," Mrs. Mesh added, reverting to his remark of a moment before.
"Oh, everything! the ways of the people, their ideas, their peculiar cachet. The very expression of their faces amuses me."
"Most of them have no expression at all."
"Oh, you are used to it," Florimond said. "You have become one of themselves; you have ceased to notice."
"I am more of a stranger than you; I was born beneath other skies. Is it possible that you don't know yet that I am a native of Baltimore? 'Maryland, my Maryland!'"
"Have they got so much expression in Maryland? No, I thank you; no tea. Is it possible!" Florimond went on, with the familiarity of pretended irritation,—"is it possible that you have n't noticed yet that I never take it? Boisson fade, écœurante, as Balzac calls it."
"Ah, well, if you don't take it on account of
