"I didn't make up the mare, miss, before comin' out wid ye," he says, mildly, telling this lie without a blush.,
"No such luck. But look here, I never suffered such agony as I did in that laurel. It's the last tree I'll ever climb. I knew if I got down they would never forgive me to their dying day, and as I was I felt like a condemned criminal.",
"Your description is graphic," he answers, lightly, "if faintly unkind; but when is the truth civil? You are right. Younger sons, as a rule, are not run after. Mammas do not hanker after them, or give them their reserve smiles, or pull their skirts aside to make room for them upon small ottomans.".
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