“Oh, the pootsy-bootsy!” broke in Molly. “Isn’t she a sweet, charming, handsome creature?—the precious dear!”
“I fear she doth not please you, Mrs Molly?” asked Madam, interpreting Molly’s exclamation by the rule of contrary.
“She’s the ugliest old baboon that ever grinned!” was Molly’s complimentary reply.
“What say you, Mrs Gatty?”
“She is certainly not handsome,” answered Gatty, apparently with some reluctance; “but I have heard her well spoken of, as very kind and good.”
“Have you met with Mr Welles, her nephew, my dear?”
Molly had clasped her hands, leaned back, lifted her eyes with an expression of sentimental rapture, and was executing an effective tableau vivant.
“Yes, I have seen him two or three times,” said Gatty.
“Is he a young man of an agreeable turn?” inquired Madam.
“He is very handsome,” replied Gatty, rather doubtfully, as if she hardly knew what to say.