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“Mrs. Perkins is a very kind creature,” I said, “and it was a very pleasant ball. Did you not think so, Miss Kicklebury?”

“I thought it odious,” said Miss Fanny. “I mean, it WAS pleasant until that–that stupid man–what was his name?–came and took me away to dance with him.”

“What! don’t you care for a red coat and moustaches?” I asked.

“I adore genius, Mr. Titmarsh,” said the young lady, with a most killing look of her beautiful blue eyes, “and I have every one of your works by heart–all, except the last, which I can’t endure. I think it’s wicked, positively wicked–My darling Scott–how can you? And are you going to make a Christmas-book this year?”

“Shall I tell you about it?”

“Oh, do tell us about it,” said the lively, charming creature, clapping her hands: and we began to talk, being near Lavinia (Mrs. Milliken) and her husband, who was ceaselessly occupied in fetching and carrying books, biscuits, pillows and cloaks, scent-bottles, the Italian greyhound, and the thousand and one necessities of the pale and interesting bride. Oh, how she did fidget! how she did grumble! how she altered and twisted her position! and how she did make poor Milliken trot!

After Miss Fanny and I had talked, and I had told her my plan, which she pronounced to be delightful, she continued:–“I never was so provoked in my life, Mr. Titmarsh, as when that odious man came and interrupted that dear delightful conversation.”

“On your word? The odious man is on board the boat: I see him smoking just by the funnel yonder, look! and looking at us.”

“He is very stupid,” said Fanny; “and all that I adore is intellect, dear Mr. Titmarsh.”

“But why is he on board?” said I, with a fin sourire.

“Why is he on board? Why is everybody on board? How do we meet? (and oh, how glad I am to meet you again!) You don’t suppose that I know how the horrid man came here?”

“Eh! he may be fascinated by a pair of blue eyes, Miss Fanny! Others have been so,” I said.

“Don’t be cruel to a poor girl, you wicked, satirical creature,” she said. “I think Captain Hicks odious–there! and I was quite angry when I saw him on the boat. Mamma does not know him, and she was so angry with me for dancing with him that night: though there was nobody of any particular mark at poor dear Mrs. Perkins’s–that is, except YOU, Mr. Titmarsh.”

“And I am not a dancing man,” I said, with a sigh.

“I hate dancing men; they can do nothing but dance.”

“O yes, they can. Some of them can smoke, and some can ride, and some of them can even spell very well.”

“You wicked, satirical person. I’m quite afraid of you!”

“And some of them call the Rhine the ‘Whine,'” I said, giving an admirable imitation of poor Hicks’s drawling manner.

Fanny looked hard at me, with a peculiar expression on her face. At last she laughed. “Oh, you wicked, wicked man,” she said, “what a capital mimic you are, and so full of cleverness! Do bring up Captain Hicks–isn’t that his name?–and trot him out for us. Bring him up, and introduce him to mamma: do now, go!”

Mamma, in the meanwhile, had waited her time, and was just going to step down the cabin stairs as Lady Knightsbridge ascended from them. To draw back, to make a most profound curtsy, to exclaim, “Lady Knightsbridge! I have had the honor of seeing your ladyship at–hum–hum–hum” (this word I could not catch)–“House,”–all these feats were performed by Lady Kicklebury in one instant, and acknowledged with the usual calmness by the younger lady.

“And may I hope,” continues Lady Kicklebury, “that that most beautiful of all children–a mother may say so–that Lord Pimlico has recovered his hooping-cough? We were so anxious about him. Our medical attendant is Mr. Topham, and he used to come from Knightsbridge House to Pocklington Square, often and often. I am interested about the hooping-cough. My own dear boy had it most severely; that dear girl, my eldest daughter, whom you see stretched on the bench–she is in a very delicate state, and only lately married–not such a match as I could have wished: but Mr. Milliken is of a good family, distantly related to your ladyship’s. A Milliken, in George the Third’s reign, married a Boltimore, and the Boltimores, I think, are your first-cousins. They married this year, and Lavinia is so fond of me, that she can’t part with me, and I have come abroad just to please her. We are going to Noirbourg. I think I heard from my son that Lord Knightsbridge was at Noirbourg.”