'So dear Aunt Becky has forgiven Puddock,' said Devereux, who was
sauntering up to the tent between O'Flaherty and Cluffe, and little
suspecting that he was descanting upon the intended Mrs. Cluffe--'and
they are celebrating the reconciliation over a jelly and a pupton. I
love Aunt Rebecca, I tell you--I don't know what we should do without
her. She's impertinent, and often nearly insupportable; but isn't she
the most placable creature on earth? I venture to say I might kill you,
Lieutenant O'Flaherty--of course, with your permission, Sir--and she'd
forgive me to-morrow morning! And she really does princely
things--doesn't she? She set up that ugly widow--what's her name?--twice
in a shop in Dame Street, and gave two hundred pounds to poor Scamper's
orphan, and actually pensions that old miscreant, Wagget, who ought to
be hanged--and never looks for thanks or compliments, or upbraids her
ingrates with past kindnesses. She's noble--Aunt Becky's every inch a
gentleman!'
By this time they had reached the tent, and the hearty voice of the
general challenged them from the shade, as he filliped a little chime
merrily on his empty glass.
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