“Cousin!” repeated Hephzibah, in a tone of flat denial. She stalked to the table, and sat down square. “Now, John, I’m a distant connection of yours, and I know all about your family. And what cousin may you be, mum, pray, and on which side?”
“Oh, I never can remember those genesises!” cried Adeline, with a charming laugh, as she hastened to arrange her fringe.
“Dirty hands!” reflected Hephzibah.
“My name is Botster,” she said, aloud, “and one thing I know for certain, madame, that you never were a cousin of mine.”
Adeline looked surprised at this open aggression; but Adeline had never liked disagreeables of any kind.
“Have some coffee?” she asked. “There is a little—a little taste from the coating of the coffee-pot, whatever it may be, that gives quite a peculiar flavor, as I was just telling Klomp.”
She laughed again, and the sluggard smiled contentedly.
“Oh, nobody ever rinses it out,” he said. “I boiled some ratsbane in it the other day.”
Adeline shrieked.