“It would make no difference to us whether we had one dish or ten; but it makes all the difference in the world to Mr. Thrale. They say he has a prodigious appetite, and eats of at least six heavy dishes of meat at dinner.”
“Mr. Baretti affirms that some day he will not awake from the stupor into which he falls after one of his heavy meals,” said Susy.
“And all the time Mrs. Thrale is entreating him to be more moderate,” cried Lottie.
“A humiliating duty for such as Mrs. Thrale,” said her mother. “That shows how true is all that Fanny has remarked: a simple dish should be enough for any reasonable person. I have often wondered how the converse at the Streatham table could be so wise and witty if the master of the house eats like a hog, and Dr. Johnson, suffering from ill-health, expends so much energy over his pork that the veins stand out on his forehead and his face is bathed in perspiration.”
“I am sure that Mrs. Thrale has wit and liveliness enough to serve for the whole company,” said Fanny.
“She is chatty enough, I doubt not,” replied Mrs. Burney. “There are those who think she talks over-much for a woman.”
“Not for a woman of fashion,” suggested Lottie with some pertness, when their stepmother had left the room. “It is long since Mrs. Thrale has invited mother to one of the Streatham dinners,” she added under her breath.
And then the three fell upon the Chronicle for the announcement of the book.
They read it in whispers, each following the other, as though it were the piano part of a catch or a glee, and glancing fearfully toward the door now and again, lest it should open and Mrs. Burney reappear.
“How amazing it is!” said Susy. “This is the announcement of the birth of a baby—and such a baby!”