Guy Earlscourt's Wife — page 46: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

go At St. George’s, Hanover Square. looked down, and the angelic face broke into the beautiful smile of babvhood, and ihc two little fat hands held them- selves up. “Polly want her bek-fas.” The little silver voice went straight to that vulnerable spot in Miss Mason’s chain-mail armor. Perhaps if Nature had never meant her for a wife, it had meant her for a mother. A glow came actually into her tallow complexion; she raised the child, and pressed it to her vestal bosom. “You’re the prettiest little thing I ever saw in my life. My little pet, tell me your name.” “Polly,” whispered the child. “Polly want Dozy.” What ?” “Dozy.” Rosanna looked helplessly at Duke. Duke sat astounded to hear the midget speak at all. “Porhaps it’s her nurse,” ne suggested. “I think now, I heard Miss Lyndith call the name ‘Rosie, in the inner room.” “Dozy, Dozy,” repeated the ehild, impatiently. “Polly want Dozy! Polly want her bek-fas. . Polly want to get down.” “Polly, put the kettle on,” Duke murmured, abstractedly; “nut Polly down, Rasanna. Let’s see if she ean walk.” Polly could walk very well. In her blue silk dress and flaxen enrls, her gold chain and locket, her glimmering bronze boots, and silk stockings, Polly looked a thorough baby aris- toerat from top to toe. “hike a small duchess, by George!’ said Duke, admivingly ; “a follow might make his fortune if h> could paint her. She looks like Miss Lyndith, too, about the nose and chin.” “Duke,” his sister said, sternly, “never let me hear the name of that young person from your lips again. We will keep the child;” her hard face softened as she looked at the tiny beauty in blue s‘lk; “but speak no more of a creature who tells you thi is her wedding day, who is called Misg Lyndith, and who ovns this child to be hers. She has reason to be thankful, poor babe, that she has been snatched from that sink of corruption, the fashionable world, at so early an age.” The poor babe did not seem particularly thankful. After calling for “Dozy” two or three times in vain, Polly opened her cherub mouth, and set up such a howl as made Rosanna’s blood curdle with new terror. “Polly shall have bread and milk,” Miss Mason said, sooth- ingly; “only do be quiet, dear. I suppose we must fabricate a story for the neighbors, Duke; and may the Lord forgive us. One can’t touch pitch without béing defiled. We can’t have comicbooks.com