“My dear child,” said Lady Jane in her soft, distressed voice, “indeed that is not the way young ladies talk of—of—boys.”
“Armyn is not a boy, Aunt Jane; he’s a man. He is a clerk, you know, and will get a salary in another year.”
“A clerk!”
“Yes; in Mr. Brown’s office, you know. Aunt Jane, did you ever go out to tea?”
“Yes, my dear; sometimes we drank tea with our little friends in the dolls’ tea-cups.”
“Oh! you can’t think what fun we have when Mrs. Brown asks us to tea. She has got the nicest garden in the world, and a greenhouse, and a great squirt-syringe, I mean, to water it; and we always used to get it, till once, without meaning it, I squirted right through the drawing-room window, and made such a puddle; and Mrs. Brown thought it was Charlie, only I ran in and told of myse
