“Yes, I know it is.” The speaker had not the faintest notion of the sense of the adjective employed, but as applied to her own accomplishment, it evidently connoted something bad, so that it was safe to acquiesce.
“You know what phonetic means?”
“Oh yes, perfectly.”
“It is carrying your principle a little far to spell the carriage I sent to meet you ‘b-r-o-o-m.’”
“It must have been a slip of the pen,” replied Bonnybell, devoutly praying that she might not be asked how the word that had played her this scurvy trick really spelt itself.
“It will be safer to guard against the possibility of such slips in the future,” rejoined Camilla, with a resolute dryness, which showed how little she believed in her future disciple’s gloss.
The disciple made another feeble struggle against the meshes of the net which she felt to be closing round her.
“Do you think that it is any use to teach people spelling? Isn’t it born with them? I have heard it said that there are people who can never learn to spell; perhaps I am one of them.”
“It is, at all events, worth a trial,” replied Mrs. Tancred, with a determination which brooked no further attempt to overset it.
Half an hour later saw Bonnybell established in solitary confinement in her prison, with the instruments of her torture methodically arrayed around her. During that baleful half hour she had, in answer to questions, revealed a knowledge of history and geography quite on a par with her orthography, since she had married Richard II. of England to his grandmother Philippa; had treated Argentina as a town, and generously given it a seat on the Italian sea-board.