“No, into the card-rack; and there it is now.”
“How provoking!” cried Miss Ricketts; “but you shall have it to-morrow, Miss Dalton. I 'll leave it here myself.”
“Shall I appear impatient, madam, if I send for it this evening?”
“Of course not, my dear Miss Dalton; but shall I commit the precious charge to a menial's hand?”
“You may do so with safety, madam,” said Kate, not without a slight irritation of manner as she spoke.
“Mr. Foglass, the late minister and envoy at—”
Here a tremendous crash, followed by a terrific yelping noise, broke in upon the colloquy; for it was Fidele had thrown down a Sevres jar, and lay, half-buried and howling, under the ruins. There was, of course, a general rising of the company, some to rescue the struggling poodle, and others in vain solicitude to gather up the broken fragments of the once beautiful vase. It was a favorite object with Lady Hester; of singular rarity, both for form and design; and Kate stood speechless, and almost sick with shame and sorrow, at the sight, not heeding one syllable of the excuses and apologies poured in upon her, nor of the equally valueless assurances that it could be easily mended; that Martha was a perfect proficient in such arts; and that, if Scroope would only collect the pieces carefully, the most difficult connoisseur would not be able to detect a flaw in it.
“I've got a head here; but the no-nose is off,” cried Purvis.
“Here it is, Scroope. I 've found it.”
“No, that's a toe,” said he; “there 's a nail to it.”