"Sir!" said my husband, grasping his cane.
"I lament it," said the little man, turning to me; "your book has done it for you."
I thought of the reviews, and trembled.
"How could you," continued our tormentor, "how could you put the Pumpington Wells people in your novel?"
"The Pumpington Wells people!—Nonsense; there are good and bad people in my novel, and there are good and bad people in Pumpington Wells; but you flatter the good, if you think that when I dipped my pen in praise, I limited my sketches to the virtuous of this place; and what is worse, you libel the bad if you assert that my sketches of vice were meant personally to apply to the vicious who reside here."
"I libel—I assert!" said the old lady-like little man; "not I!—every body says so!"
"You may laugh," replied my mentor and tormentor combined, "but personality can be proved against you; and all the friends and relations of Mr. Flaw declare you meant the bad man of your book for him."
"His friends and relations are too kind to him."
"Then you have an irregular character in your book, and Mrs. Blemish's extensive circle of intimates assert that nothing can be more pointed than your allusion to her conduct and her character."
"And pray what do these persons say about it themselves?"