Come now, think of somethink else.' To this encouragement, offered with the indulgent toleration of a wise and liberal expert, Miss Twinkleton would rejoin, reddening: 'Or, my dear, you might propose to the person of the house a duck.' 'Well, Miss!' the Billickin would exclaim (still no word being spoken by Rosa), 'you do surprise me when you speak of ducks! Not to mention that they're getting out of season and very dear, it really strikes to my heart to see you have a duck; for the breast, which is the only delicate cuts in a duck, always goes in a direction which I cannot imagine where, and your own plate comes down so miserably skin-and-bony! Try again, Miss.

Think more of yourself, and less of others.

A dish of sweetbreads now, or a bit of mutton.

Something at which you can get your equal chance.' Occasionally the game would wax very brisk indeed, and would be kept up with a smartness rendering such an encounter as this quite tame.

But the Billickin almost invariably made by far the higher score; and would come in with side hits of the most unexpected and extraordinary description, when she seemed without a chance.
All this did not improve the gritty state of things in London, or the air that London had acquired in Rosa's eyes of waiting for something that never came.