I remember soon after one of these books was published I happened to
meet Mrs. Jupp to whom, by the way, Ernest made a small weekly
allowance. It was at Ernest's chambers, and for some reason we were
left alone for a few minutes. I said to her: "Mr. Pontifex has written
another book, Mrs. Jupp."
"Lor' now," said she, "has he really? Dear gentleman! Is it about
love?" And the old sinner threw up a wicked sheep's eye glance at me
from under her aged eyelids. I forget what there was in my reply which
provoked it- probably nothing- but she went rattling on at full
speed to the effect that Bell had given her a ticket for the opera.
"So, of course," she said, "I went. I didn't understand one word of
it, for it was all French, but I saw their legs. Oh dear, oh dear! I'm
afraid I shan't be here much longer, and when dear Mr. Pontifex sees
me in my coffin he'll say, 'Poor old Jupp, she'll never talk broad any
more'; but bless you I'm not so old as all that, and I'm taking
lessons in dancing."
At this moment Ernest came in and the conversation was changed. Mrs.
Jupp asked if he was still going on writing more books now that this
one was done. course I am," he answered; "I'm always writing books;
here is the manuscript of my next"; and he showed her a heap of paper.
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