"Oh, but I like to call you Sophy," he responded airily. "And
really, you shouldn't mind. I've called people lots worse things
than Sophy, in my time! But then," he added, "I didn't happen to
like them. As for you, I find you a very likeable being, Sophy; upon
my word, extremely likeable!"
"Thank you," said I. I wasn't anxious to hear The Author tell me how
likable he found me; at least, not yet.
* * * * *
For pride's sake as well as for the sake of custom--and in South
Carolina custom has all the power of a fetish--Mrs. Scarboro would
have died rather than vary by one jot or tittle her usual
refreshments, or wear a new frock, on that particular night. Yet the
occasion, despite its mild diversions, was distinctly epochal, in
that it marked the reunion of Hyndsville. Even Mr. Nicholas Jelnik,
for the first time, put in his decorative appearance, to The
Author's fidgety surprise. He played a highly creditable game of
bridge. And after a while he sang "Believe Me if All Those Endearing
Young Charms," so exquisitely that a hushed and rapturous silence
fell upon everybody, and the old ladies and gentlemen present held
their hands before misty eyes.
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