Mrs. James.  “A little Scotch accent though—­he! he!”

Mrs. Luttrell.  “She is Scotch—­he! he!” (To John offering her tea.)
“No more, thank you—­he! he!”

Mrs. James.  “Shall you go the Assize sermon?—­ha! ha!”

Mrs. Willis.  “Oh, yes—­he! he!—­the last was very dry—­he! he!  Who preaches it this term?—­he!”

Mrs. James.  “The Bishop—­he! he!”

Mrs. Willis.  “Then I shall certainly go; he is such a dear preacher—­he! he!”

“Just tell me what is the precise meaning of ‘ha! ha!’ and what of ‘he! he!’”

“The precise meaning?  There you puzzle me, uncle.”

“I mean, what do you mean by them?”

“Oh, I put ‘ha! ha!’ when they giggle, and ‘he! he!’ when they only chuckle.”

“Then this is a caricature, my lady?”

“No, dear, you know I have no satire in me; it is taken down to the letter, and I fear I must trouble you for the solution.”

“Well, the solution is, they are three fools.”

“No, uncle, begging your pardon, they are not,” replied Lucy, politely but firmly.

“Well, then, three d—­d fools.”

Lucy winced at the participle, but was two polite to lecture her elder.  “They have not that excuse,” said she; “they are all sensible women, who discharge the duties of life with discretion except society; and they can discriminate between grave and gay whenever they are not at a party; and as for Mrs. Luttrell, when she is alone with me she is a sweet, natural love.”

“They cackled—­at every word—­like that—­the whole evening!!??”

“Except when you told that funny story about the Irish corporal who was attacked by a mastiff, and killed him with his halberd, and, when he was reproached by his captain for not being content to repel so valuable an animal with the butt end of his lance, answered—­ha! ha!”

“So, then, he answered ‘Haw! haw!’ did he?”

“Now, uncle!  No; he answered, ’So I would, your arnr, if he had run at me with his tail!’ Now, that was genuine wit, mixed with quite enough fun to make an intelligent person laugh; and then you told it so drolly—­ha! ha!”

“They did not laugh at that?"

“Sat as grave as judges.”

“And you tell me they are not fools.”

“I must repeat, they have not that excuse.  Perhaps their risibility had been exhausted.  After laughing three hours a propos de rien, it is time to be serious out of place.  I will tell you what they did laugh at, though.  Miss Malcolm sang a song with a title I dare not attempt.  There were two lines in it which I am going to mispronounce; but you are not Scotch, so I don’t care for you, uncle, darling.

      “’He had but a saxpence; he break it in twa,
        And he gave me the half o’t when he gaed awa.’

“They laughed at that; a general giggle went round.”

“Well, I must confess, I don’t see much to laugh at in that, Lucy.”