“Oh, he called her all the names. He said she was a statue of flirtation.”
“Who? Lucy?”
“Lucy? no! the naughty lady—the one that had twelve husbands. He kept warning him, and warning him, and then Mr. Dodd and papa they began to quarrel almost, because Mr. Dodd said the naughty lady was quite young, and papa said she was ever so old. Mr. Dodd said she was twenty-one. But papa told him she must be more than that, because she had a child that would be fifteen years old; only it died. How old would sister Emily be if she was alive, mamma? La, mamma, how pretty you are: you have got red cheeks like Lucy—redder, oh, ever so much redder—and in general they are so pale before dinner. Let me kiss you, mamma. I do love the ladies when their cheeks are red.”
“There! there! now go on, dear; tell me some more.”
“It is very interesting, isn't it, dear mamma?”
“It is amusing, at all events.”
“No, it is not amusing—at least, what came after, isn't: it is wicked, it is unjust, it is abominable.”
“Tell me, dear.”
“It turned out it wasn't the naughty lady Mr. Dodd was in love for, and who do you think he is in love of?”
“I have not an idea.”