“Angelic, angelic is the word, Kit—don’t begrudge it; it saves such a lot of the others.”
“Yes, angelic,” I replied with firmness; “and even that is not half good enough. You know nothing of such matters, Uncle Corny.”
“Then what is the use of my advice? You had better go to Tabby Tapscott.”
This threw me out a little; but I would not be brow-beaten.
“If you have no wish to hear any more about her, and compare her to an old creature like Tabby, all I can say is that I am sorry for your taste, very sorry for your taste, Uncle Corny.”
“Well, well, go on, Kit. Let us have it all, while we are about it. Rasp the baker told me something. He has brought down a girl from London who can make short bread and maids of honour. No wonder you fell in love with her.”
“You may try to provoke me, but you shall not succeed; because you know no better. What will you say when I tell you the young lady is the niece of Miss Coldpepper of Coldpepper Manor?”
I looked at Uncle Corny with a glance of triumph; and then stood up, to breathe again, after my own audacity. But instead of being terrified, he took it very coolly.
“Well, a cat may look at a king,” said he, pursuing his pipe with his usual discretion; “and I suppose you have only looked at her; though somebody said you pulled her out of our watercress brook.”
“Sir, I have had two delightful talks with her; and I mean to have another to-morrow. Not that I have any hope—of course, I am well aware—”