Kit and Kitty: A Story of West MiddlesexBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
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Kit and Kitty: A Story of West Middlesex
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Middlesex (England) -- Fiction
“Well, I thought it worth while to try; and I found her much kinder
than I expected. A little bit stiff at first perhaps, and rather of
the grand lady style; but I am sure that she would help you, if she
could. She likes Kitty better than her own nieces; that I am quite sure
of; and she does not side a bit with that horrid Mrs. Fairthorn, at
least as everybody makes her out, though I always form my own opinion.
She perceived, of course, that I was a lady, and not to be treated as
a fruit-grower might be, such as everybody looks upon as a sort of
apple-pie. I explained that my connection with your Uncle Orchardson
was casual, and had been against my wishes; while my family had been
in the China-trade; and she asked very kindly, if I would have a cup
of tea. I accepted, because I knew how it makes ladies talk. Then she
asked me what I thought of it, and I said it was poor stuff; for I had
no idea of being patronized by her, and I saw that she had sense enough
to like the truth, especially when it was to her advantage, although
not very complimentary. Then she asked me where she could get a better
article; and I told her that I never recommended any place, having
nothing to do with any business now, but living in a very pretty place
of my own. Naturally this made her press me more; and not liking to
be disagreeable, I told her of a place, where by taking twelve pounds
she could get a tea worth two of hers, for fifteen pence a pound
less money. And this made a very fine impression upon her; for she
loves good value for her money. Then she became very gracious indeed;
especially after her cur of a dog came in, and smelling souvenirs of
my high breed, did his utmost to improve himself, by licking them. For
your sake, Kit, I was obliged to say, that the wretched mongrel looked
well-bred. Oh dear, oh dear!”
“Well, never mind, aunt; he has done me a good turn—” I remembered in
time to stop sharply. My Aunt Parslow would take it as worse than high
treason, that I should have stolen even such a dog; and how could I
call it a good turn now?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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