“Is there no possibility of dyeing his feathers?” remarked Agamemnon Collumpsion, feeling the necessity of saying something.
“It is not the inky cloak, Mr. Applebite,” replied Mrs. Greatgirdle, “that truly indicates regret; but it’s here,” (laying her hand upon her left side): “no—there, under his liver wing, that he feels it, poor bird! It’s a shocking thing to live alone.”
“And especially in such a large cage,” said Mrs. Waddledot. “Your house is rather large, Mr. Applebite?” inquired Mrs. Greatgirdle.
“Rather, ma’am,” replied Collumpsion.
“Ain’t you very lonely?” said Mrs. Waddledot and Mrs. Greatgirdle both in a breath.
“Why, not—”
“Very lively, you were going to say,” interrupted Mrs. G.
Now Mrs. G. was wrong in her conjecture of Collumpsion’s reply. He was about to say, “Why, not at all;” but she, of course, knew best what he ought to have answered.
“I often feel for you, Mr. Applebite,” remarked Mrs. Waddledot; “and think how strange it is that you, who really are a nice young man—and I don’t say so to flatter you—that you should have been so unsuccessful with the ladies.”
Collumpsion’s vanity was awfully mortified at this idea.