“I hope you are better, sir?” said Lady Dorothea, in an admirable blending of grand benevolence and condescension.
“Infinitely better; supremely happy, besides, to have become the object of your Ladyship's kind inquiries,” said the little man, sitting up, and looking around with a very ghastly effort at urbanity and ease.
“I never knew Fang to bite any one,” said Mary.
“Does n't she, by jingo!” exclaimed the artist, who with difficulty caught himself in time before he placed his hand on the supposed seat of his injuries.
“She shall be muzzled in future,” said Lady Dorothea, haughtily, repressing the familiar tone of the discussion.
“I think—indeed, I feel sure—I could get her in from memory, my Lady; she 's a very remarkable creature, and makes an impression on one.” As he uttered these words ruefully, he lifted from the floor the fragment of his coat-skirt, and gazed mournfully at it.
“I suppose we must suspend proceedings,” said Lady Dorothea; “though really it is a pity to lose the opportunity of Miss Martin's presence,—an honor she so very rarely accords us.”
“I think after a few minutes or so, my Lady, I might feel equal,” said Mr. Crow, rising and retreating to a wall with a degree of caution that showed he entertained grave fears as to the state of his habiliments,—“I might feel equal, if not exactly to delineate Miss Martin's Classic features, at least to throw in—”