Anything wanting to the bonnet? There’s a cab at the door.”
Mademoiselle Hortense, casting an indignant eye at the glass, shakes herself perfectly neat in one shake and looks, to do her justice, uncommonly genteel.
“Listen then, my angel,” says she after several sarcastic nods. “You are very spiritual. But can you restore him back to life?”
Mr. Bucket answers, “Not exactly.”
“That is droll. Listen yet one time. You are very spiritual. Can you make a honourable lady of her?”
“Don’t be so malicious,” says Mr. Bucket.
“Or a haughty gentleman of him ?” cries Mademoiselle, referring to Sir Leicester with ineffable disdain. “Eh! Oh, then regard him! The poor infant! Ha! Ha! Ha!”