“Good-morning, little mouse,” responded dear Uncle, putting down the Telegraph and turning his kind face to me. “I have just been reading the account of the ball. You have not been neglected by the imaginative reporter.”
I felt a qualm of anxiety and then of keen curiosity, as I walked over to Uncle and he drew me to sit upon the arm of his chair. He read the account of the ball. My name was mentioned as that of one of the “buds,” who had received marked attention. Having satisfied my curiosity, Uncle told me he had waited breakfast for me and led the way to the dining-room. Mumsie came in and kissed me tenderly, and wished me the compliments of the season. I was glad Mr. Bang was away.
“Now, Elsie,” began Uncle, “tell us all about your experiences.”
“I had a lovely time, perfectly delightful,” I said, with as much semblance of delight as I could muster. My temples were throbbing violently.
“That’s good. What did you say to the men, when they came crowding to be introduced? They must have seen you were my niece by adoption?”
“Don’t answer him, Elsie,” cut in Mumsie and turning to me, “He’s an awful tease, this Micawber of mine.”
“Did you begin to make conversation, like the gentle maiden who said to each new acquaintance, ‘I had a little kitten and it died.’ ” Uncle imitated a little girl’s voice.
“Oh Uncle,” I protested, “I’m not so green as that, surely!”
“I told you to pay no attention to him: quit—” and Mumsie made to throw a napkin across the table at her husband.
But I was really delighted, for Uncle’s mood gave me reassurance and Mumsie’s threat to throw her napkin at her Micawber inspired me to broach the subject of the riot at the ball. I told of the girls throwing flowers, whereat Uncle pricked up his ears, and soon I had given them a mild account of what happened.