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Updated: April 30, 2025
"Only a basketful of the bee orchis, which I commissioned a little boy to bring from St. Vincent's rocks for my young botanists," said Mrs. Porett to Angelina: "you know the flower is so like a bee, that at first sight you might easily mistake it." Mrs. Porett, to convince Betty Williams that she had no cause for fear, went on before her into the hall; but Betty still hung back, crying
Porett, or Plait, or Puffit, or some of her names that pekin with a p and ent with at." Angelina, quite overpowered, shrunk back, as Betty bawled out her vindication, and she was yet more confused, when Monsieur Richelet, the dancing-master, at this unlucky instant, came up to her, and with an elegant bow, said, "It is not difficult to see by her air, that mademoiselle dances superiorly.
"You see that they are not bees," said Mrs. Porett to Betty Williams, as she took several of the flowers in her hand. Betty, half convinced, yet half afraid, moved a few steps into the hall. "You have no cause for dread," said Clara Hope; "poor boy, he has nought in his basket that can hurt any body."
Porett, with something of embarrassment in her manner, for she was afraid of appearing impertinent. "I know, or at least I knew, a lady who writes under that name, and whose real name is Hodges." "Oh, a thousand, thousand thanks!" cried Angelina: "tell me, where can I find her?" "Are you acquainted with her? You seem to be a stranger, young lady, in Bristol.
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