As soon as Mrs. Hazleby made her appearance in the drawing-room before
dinner, Rupert began repeating,
'The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye,
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the child would die,
But soon a wonder came to light,
That shewed the rogues they lied,
The child recovered of the bite,
It was the dog that died.'
'I beg to offer my congratulations,' continued he, setting a chair for her.
Mrs. Hazleby looked surprised.
'On the demonstration we have this day received of your superior judgement,
Ma'am,' said Rupert, 'though indeed we could hardly have doubted it before.'
'Pray let me understand you, Mr. Merton,' said Mrs. Hazleby.
'Have you not heard of the circumstance to which I allude?' said Rupert; 'for if
you are not already aware of it, I must beg to be excused from relating it; I could
not bear to give so great a shock to a lady's feelings.'
'Oh! you mean about Fido,' said Mrs. Hazleby, almost smiling; 'yes, Lucy told me
that you had found him. Really, my girls are so careless, I can trust nothing to
them.'
'Indeed, Madam,' said Rupert, 'I assure you that nothing could have been more
heart-rending than the scene presented to our eyes when the Miss Hazlebys first
became aware of the untimely fate of their favourite. Who could behold it with dry
eye--or dry foot?' added he, in an under-tone, with a side glance at Anne.
Rupert contrived to talk so much nonsense to Mrs. Hazleby, that he charmed her
with his attention, gave her no time to say anything about Fido, and left Anne
much surprised that she had never found out that he was laughing at her. At
dinner, the grouse he had brought came to their aid; Mrs. Hazleby was delighted
to taste a blackcock once more, and was full of reminiscences of Inchlitherock;
and by means of these recollections, and Rupert's newly imported histories, Sir
Edward and Mr. Woodbourne contrived to make the conversation more
