'Your papa, to be sure,' said Mistress Pauncefort, blushing up to her eyes, and looking very confused; 'that is to say, Miss Venetia, you are never to ask questions about such subjects. Have not I often told you it is not pretty?'
'Why is it not pretty?' said Venetia.
'Because it is not proper,' said Mistress Pauncefort; 'because your mamma does not like you to ask such questions, and she will be very angry with me for answering them, I can tell you that.'
'I tell you what, Mistress Pauncefort,' said Venetia, 'I think mamma is a widow.'
'And what then, Miss Venetia? There is no shame in that.'
'Shame!' exclaimed Venetia. 'What is shame?'
'Look, there is a pretty butterfly!' exclaimed Mistress Pauncefort.
'Did you ever see such a pretty butterfly, Miss?'
'I do not care about butterflies to-day, Mistress Pauncefort; I like to talk about widows.'
'Was there ever such a child!' exclaimed Mistress Pauncefort, with a wondering glance.
'I must have had a papa,' said Venetia; 'all the ladies I read about had papas, and married husbands. Then whom did my mamma marry?'