"Gipsy, you dreadful child, hush!" said Lizzie, in alarm.
"Oh, let her go on! She's just as you taught her, madam. And as to you, Miss Gipsy, or Aurora, or whatever your name is, let me tell you, the gout is nothing to be ashamed of. It runs in the most respectable families, miss."
"Lord, Guardy! What a pity I can't have it, too, and help to keep up the respectability of the family!"
Louis turned to the window, and struggled violently with a laugh, which he endeavored to change into a cough, and the laugh and cough meeting, produced a choking sensation. This sent Gipsy to his aid, who, after administering sundry thumps on his back with her little closed fists, restored him to composure, and the squire returned to the charge.
"And now, to 'return to our mutton,' as Solomon says; or—hold on a minute—was it Solomon who said that?"
The squire paused, and placed his finger reflectively on the point of his nose, in deep thought; but being unable to decide, he looked up, and went on:
"Yes, miss, as I was saying, what took you over to Deep Dale so early this morning? Tell me that."
"Well, if I must, I must, I s'pose—so here goes."
"Hallo, Gipsy!" interrupted Louis. "Take care—you're making poetry."
"No, sir! I scorn the accusation!" said Gipsy, drawing herself up. "But, Guardy, since I must tell you, I went over to see—ahem!—Archie!"