Jack, to go back to the old song I was freely quoting at dinner (and who knows old songs better than you!), my wife shall dance, and I will sing, so merrily pass the day. Of Pussy’s being beautiful there cannot be a doubt;—and when you are good besides, Little Miss Impudence,” once more apostrophising the portrait, “I’ll burn your comic likeness and paint your music-master another.”
Mr. Jasper, with his hand to his chin, and with an expression of musing benevolence on his face, has attentively watched every animated look and gesture attending the delivery of these words. He remains in that attitude after they are spoken, as if in a kind of fascination attendant on his strong interest in the youthful spirit that he loves so well. Then, he says with a quiet smile:
“You won’t be warned, then?”
“No, Jack.”
“You can’t be warned, then?”
“No, Jack, not by you. Besides that I don’t really consider myself in danger, I don’t like your putting yourself in that position.”
“Shall we go and walk in the churchyard?”
“By all means. You won’t mind my slipping out of it for half a moment to the Nuns’ House, and leaving a parcel there? Only gloves for Pussy; as many pairs of gloves as she is years old today. Rather poetical, Jack?”
Mr. Jasper, still in the same attitude, murmurs: “ ‘Nothing half so sweet in life,’ Ned!”
“Here’s the parcel in my greatcoat pocket. They must be presented tonight, or the poetry is gone. It’s against regulations for me to call at night, but not to leave a packet. I am ready, Jack!”