“You should never play on words; to do so is low, vulgar, smelling of the pothouse, the workhouse. Belle, I insist on your declining an Armenian noun.”
“I have done so already,” said Belle.
“If you go on in this way,” said I, “I shall decline taking any more tea with you. Will you decline an Armenian noun?”
“I don’t like the language,” said Belle. “If you must teach me languages, why not teach me French or Chinese?”
“I know nothing of Chinese; and as for French, none but a Frenchman is clever enough to speak it—to say nothing of teaching; no, we will stick to Armenian, unless, indeed, you would prefer Welsh!”
“Welsh, I have heard, is vulgar,” said Belle; “so, if I must learn one of the two, I will prefer Armenian, which I never heard of till you mentioned it to me; though of the two, I really think Welsh sounds best.”
“The Armenian noun,” said I, “which I propose for your declension this night, is --- which signifieth Master.”
“I neither like the word nor the sound,” said Belle.
“I can’t help that,” said I; “it is the word I choose: Master, with all its variations, being the first noun, the sound of which I would have you learn from my lips. Come, let us begin—
“A master. Of a master, etc. Repeat—”