"Well, Mr. Bush," the Duchess said heavily, while she ate a cutlet, "how do you like the great world?"
Her Grace had heard Mrs. Verulam say that this was the paragon's first experience of that remarkable collection of absurdities.
"Eh?" said Mr. Bush, thrusting a cautious glance at the Duke—"eh?"
"Do you find it very different from your marshes?" continued the Duchess. "I suppose there are only frogs there?"
"When I catch a frog about," replied Mr. Bush, "I go for it."
"Indeed!" said her Grace, trying to seem amiably interested in these rustic pursuits. "And where does the frog go?"
"Not far," rejoined the paragon—"not far!" And he laughed like Fee-faw-fum.
"Dear me!" said the Duchess, "I am afraid you're quite a bloodthirsty person, like most men. But you're all the same; you must kill something. One man stalks a deer, another a—a frog. You shoot, I suppose?"
"No, I don't," said Mr. Bush. "Frog-shootin' wouldn't pay; they go too slow."