"I suppose she's with the same party?" grinned the fat Flopsie, as she held a large piece of bacon dipped in vinegar on her fork, preparatory to swallowing it with a gulp.
Briggs nodded gravely, "The same! Not a fine man at all, you know—no leg to speak of, and therefore no form. Legs—good legs—are beauty. Now, Winsleigh's not bad in that particular,—and I dare say Clara can hold her own,—but I wouldn't bet on little Francis."
Flopsie shrieked with laughter till she had a "stitch in her side," and was compelled to restrain her mirth.
"Lor', Mr. Briggs!" she gasped, wiping the moisture from her eyes, "you are a regular one, aren't you! Mussy on us, you ought to put all wot you say in the papers—you'd make your fortin!"
"Maybe, maybe, Flopsie," returned Briggs with due dignity. "I will not deny that there may be wot is called 'sparkle' in my natur. And 'sparkle' is wot is rekwired in polite literatoor. Look at 'Hedmund' and ''Enery!' Sparkle again,—read their magnificent productions, the World and Truth,—all sparkle, every line! It is the secret of success, Flopsie—be a sparkler and you've got everything before you."
Louise Rénaud looked across at him half-defiantly. Her prim, cruel mouth hardened into a tight line.
"To spark-el?" she said—"that is what we call étinceler—éclater. Yes, I comprehend! Miladi is one spark-el! But one must be a very good jewel to spark-el always—yes—yes—not a sham!"
And she nodded a great many times, and ate her salad very fast. Briggs surveyed her with much complacency.
"You are a talented woman, Mamzelle," he said, "very talented! I admire your ways—I really do!"
Mamzelle smiled with a gratified air, and Briggs settled his wig, eyeing her anew with fresh interest.