“Ah!” said Miss Wren thoughtfully, by no means convinced, and chopping the exclamation with that sharp little hatchet of hers; “then I tell you what change I think you had better begin with, godmother. You had better change Is into Was and Was into Is, and keep them so.”
“Would that suit your case? Would you not be always in pain then?” asked the old man tenderly.
“Right!” exclaimed Miss Wren with another chop. “You have changed me wiser, godmother.—Not,” she added with the quaint hitch of her chin and eyes, “that you need be a very wonderful godmother to do that deed.”
Thus conversing, and having crossed Westminster Bridge, they traversed the ground that Riah had lately traversed, and new ground likewise; for, when they had recrossed the Thames by way of London Bridge, they struck down by the river and held their still foggier course that way.
But previously, as they were going along, Jenny twisted her venerable friend aside to a brilliantly-lighted toyshop window, and said: “Now look at ’em! All my work!”
This referred to a dazzling semicircle of dolls in all the colours of the rainbow, who were dressed for presentation at court, for going to balls, for going out driving, for going out on horseback, for going out walking, for going to get married, for going to help other dolls to get married, for all the gay events of life.
“Pretty, pretty, pretty!” said the old man with a clap of his hands. “Most elegant taste!”