herself again, and rides in the Row, and stops to speak with that
great stupid Captain Sprawler, who is very nice to look at, whose back
is very beautiful, and who sprawls most gracefully over the railings,
and pays her those delightful, absurd compliments about her and her
horse "being such a capital pair," while, as a foil to so much grace
and splendour, a poor little snub-nosed, ill-dressed, ill-conditioned
dwarf of a snob looks on, sucking the top of his cheap cane in abject
admiration and hopeless envy! Then she pats and kisses the nice soft
nose of Cornet Flinders's hunter, which is "deucedly aggravating for
Cornet Flinders, you know"--but when that noble sportsman is frozen
out and cannot hunt, she plays scratch-cradle with him in the boudoir
of her father's country house, or pitches chocolate into his mouth
from the oak landing; and she lets him fasten the skates on to her
pretty feet. Happy cornet! And she plays billiards with her handsome
cousin--a guardsman at least--and informs him that she is just
eighteen to his love--and stands under the mistletoe and asks this
enviable relation of hers to show her what the garroter's hug is like;
and when he proceeds to do so she calls out in distress because his
pointed waxed moustache has scratched her pretty cheek; and when Mr.
Punch is there, at dinner, she and a sister darling pull crackers
across his August white waistcoat, and scream in pretty terror at the
explosion; to that worthy's excessive jubilation, for Mr. Punch is
Leech himself, and nothing she does can ever be amiss in his eyes!

Sometimes, indeed, she is seriously transfixed herself, and bids Mr.
Tongs, the hairdresser, cut off a long lock of her hair where it will
not be missed---and she looks so lovely under the smart of Cupid's
arrow that we are frantically jealous of the irresistible warrior for
whom the jetty tress is destined. In short, she is innocence and
liveliness and health incarnate--a human kitten.