As a lady's lap–dog Leonard did not excel. He was not an Italian, still less a Frenchman, in whose blood there runs the very spirit of persiflage and of gracious repartee. His wit was the Cockney's; it opened no doors into imagination, and Helen was drawn up short by "The more a lady has to say, the better," administered waggishly. "Oh yes," she said. "Ladies brighten—" "Yes, I know. The darlings are regular sunbeams. Let me give you a plate."
