"But he lets Tizzy keep with them the whole day," said she,
whispering.
"And has Tizzy a pony of her own?"
"Oh yes, Tizzy has everything. She's papa's pet, you know."
"And whose pet are you?" I asked.
"Oh--I am nobody's pet, unless sometimes Jack makes a pet of me when
he's in a good humour. Do you make pets of your sisters, Mr. Green?"
"I have none. But if I had I should not make pets of them."
"Not of your own sisters?"
"No. As for myself, I'd sooner make a pet of my friend's sister; a
great deal."
"How very unnatural," said Miss O'Conor, with the prettiest look of
surprise imaginable.
"Not at all unnatural I think," said I, looking tenderly and lovingly
into her face. Where does one find girls so pretty, so easy, so
sweet, so talkative as the Irish girls? And then with all their
talking and all their ease who ever hears of their misbehaving? They
certainly love flirting, as they also love dancing. But they flirt
without mischief and without malice.
I had now quite forgotten my misfortune, and was beginning to think
how well I should like to have Fanny O'Conor for my wife. In this
frame of mind I was bending over towards her as a servant took away a
plate from the other side, when a sepulchral note sounded in my ear.
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