Freddy Newlyn was a kindly little man, with an absurd fussy manner full
of importance, as so many kindly little men have. Is it by some gentle
providential dispensation that the physically insignificant are so often
upheld by harmless vanity?
The Cassowary, on the other hand, bony and distressingly red in the
wrong places, suffered from a realisation of her own defects that she
endeavoured to conceal by an assumption of the wildest high spirits.
This jocularity, of course, became at times rather painful, but as she
was possessed of much money and a kind heart, it was forgiven her.
The dinner was very large, and the guests sat at small tables all over
the place--a delightful invention of the Cassowary's, who screamed with
piercing glee at the excitement displayed as lots were drawn for the
different tables.
"Seven, Sir John? Then you'll find your partner and go to the
library--only three tables there! Dicky, what is your number? Four? Oh,
you lucky little brute The conservatory. Who's your girl? Oh, yes,
Piggy! Aren't I a lamb?"
The numbers of the various tables were being drawn, as she spoke, from a
vase on the drawing-room table.
"And you, M. Joyselle? Thirteen.
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