And behold Madame Dor, arrayed in a spotless pair of gloves of
her own, with no hand in the air, but both hands clasped round the neck
of the bride; to embrace whom Madame Dor has turned her broad back on the
company, consistent to the last.
"Forgive me, my beautiful," pleads Madame Dor, "for that I ever was his
she-cat!"
"She-cat, Madame Dor?
"Engaged to sit watching my so charming mouse," are the explanatory words
of Madame Dor, delivered with a penitential sob.
"Why, you were our best friend! George, dearest, tell Madame Dor. Was
she not our best friend?"
"Undoubtedly, darling. What should we have done without her?"
"You are both so generous," cries Madame Dor, accepting consolation, and
immediately relapsing. "But I commenced as a she-cat."
"Ah! But like the cat in the fairy-story, good Madame Dor," says
Vendale, saluting her cheek, "you were a true woman. And, being a true
woman, the sympathy of your heart was with true love."
"I don't wish to deprive Madame Dor of her share in the embraces that are
going on," Mr. Bintrey puts in, watch in hand, "and I don't presume to
offer any objection to your having got yourselves mixed together, in the
corner there, like the three Graces. I merely remark that I think it's
time we were moving. What are _your_ sentiments on that subject, Mr.
Ladle?"
"Clear, sir," replies Joey, with a gracious grin. "I'm clearer
altogether, sir, for having lived so many weeks upon the surface.
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