“To the school where Mr. Locke puts his sons. I know that!”
“And where is that?”
“Indeed I don't know; where is it, Miss Burney?”
“At Cheam, ma'am.”
“Oh, at young Gilpin's?” cried the king. “Is it near Mr. Locke's?”
“Yes, sir; within about six miles, I believe.”
The queen, then, with a little arch smile, that seemed to premise she should make me stare, said,
“It was there, at Mr. Locke's, your sister[196] laid in?”
“O yes, ma'am!” cried I, out of breath with surprise.
The king repeated my “O yes!” and said, “I fancy—by that O—you were frightened a little for her? What?”