“Dear me,” said Susan impatiently; “can’t one send a message up by the man that we’ll all come, without this fuss?”
But Miss Fosbrook said that would be very uncivil; and Susan, groaning, stretched every finger till the lines were finished, and began again, in her scraggy round-hand—getting safely through the “should,” and also through “like to come very much;” but when Miss Fosbrook looked up next, she saw that the rest of the note consisted of—
Mamma is at Grandmamma’s, No. 12,—St., Grovensor Place.
I am your affectionate
Susanna Merrifield.
“My dear, I am very sorry.”
“What! won’t that do?” sighed Susan, beginning to get into despair.
Miss Fosbrook pointed to the word “Grovensor.”
“Oh dear! oh dear! I thought I had got that tiresome word this time. Why can’t it put its ss and ns into their proper sensible places?” cried poor Susan, to whom it was a terrible enemy. She used to try them in different places all the way round, in hopes that one might at last be right.
“Can’t you remember what I told you, that the first Grosvenor was the grand huntsman? Grosveneur in French; that would show you where to put the s—gros, great.”
But Susan never wished to remember anything French; and Sam observed that “the man deserved to be spelt wrong if he called himself by a French name. Why couldn’t he be content to be Mr. Grandhunter?”
“But as he is not, we must spell his name right, or Mrs. Greville will be shocked,” said Miss Fosbrook.