Lady Betty laughed openly, but added, “Mind what you are about, child.”
“Poor doggie!” softly said Phoebe.
Cupid’s response was the slightest oscillation of the extreme point of his tail. But when Phoebe attempted to stroke him, to the surprise of all parties, instead of snapping at her, as he was expected to do, Cupid only wagged rather more decidedly; and when Phoebe proceeded to rub his head and ears, he actually gave her, not a bite of resentment, but a lick of friendliness.
“Deah! the sweet little deah! ’E’s vewy good!” said his mistress.
The gentle reader is requested not to suppose that the elision of Mrs Clarissa’s poor letter H, as well as R, proceeded either from ignorance or vulgarity—except so far as vulgarity lies in blindly following fashion. Mrs Clarissa’s only mistake was that, like most country ladies, she was rather behind the age. The dropping of H and other letters had been fashionable in the metropolis some eight years before.
“Clarissa, what a goose are you!” said Mrs Jane.
“Come, Jenny, don’t you bite!” put in Lady Betty. “Cupid has set you a better example than so.”
“I’ll not bite Clarissa, I thank you,” was Mrs Jane’s rather spiteful answer. “It would want more than one fast-day to bring me to that. Couldn’t fancy the paint. And don’t think I could digest the patches.”
Lady Betty appeared to enjoy Mrs Jane’s very uncivil speeches; while Cupid’s mistress remained untouched by them, being one of those persons who affect not to hear anything to which they do not choose to respond.
“Well, Rhoda, child,” said Lady Betty, as the coach neared home, “’tis no good, I guess, to bid you drink tea on a fast-day?”