“Oh, pretty well, thank you. Young Hogben is married to Dilly Topham. I must say I never thought that would come off, but it has; and they seem fairly happy. Old Mrs. Topham, however, gave no dowry; she cannot bear to part with a penny, but she sent a present of three jars of mouldy jam, and a broken-down lamp.”
“Miss Parrett has been dangerously ill,” supplemented Mrs. Ramsay, “but is better. Old Thunder has bought a donkey and a bath-chair; and oh, sad news indeed!—how am I to tell you?—Mackenzie is no more.”
“I can bear up,” he answered, with a short laugh. This was ungrateful, for was it not Mackenzie who had introduced him to Aurea?
“He was kicked by a horse, and was killed on the spot,” said the Rector; “I think, Mrs. Ramsay, you show a very unneighbourly spirit.”
“But I never considered myself the neighbour of Mackenzie!” she argued, “just the opposite—and he was not an estimable character. A good man should not own a bad dog.”
“Oh, well, give a dog a bad name——”
“And Mackenzie deserved it,” she interrupted; “he was the village bully. If he met a smaller dog, it was death for the small dog; if one of his own size, he passed on. You know, or you may not know, that, at teas at the Rectory, he sat on the laps of timid ladies, devoured their offerings, and intimidated them with growls—they dared not displace him.” Then, turning her head, “Aurea, we are talking of Mackenzie and his enormities.”
“Oh, are you?” she rejoined, with civil indifference.
“Yes,” resumed Mrs. Ramsay; “and is not it well known that he attacked a solitary visitor in the Rectory drawing-room—whose furs affronted him—and tore her muff to shreds with ferocious satisfaction? I believe her screams could be heard at the Drum, and she had to be restored with brandy and burnt feathers.”
“You would delight Dr. Johnson, my dear lady,” said the Parson; “he loved a good hater.”