Most striking had been the transition from the calm,
lady-like person, to the gay, loquacious soubrette; and not less so the
sudden extinction of vivacity and resumption of well-bred decorum. This
little scene for a few moments charmed everybody out of themselves, and
gave a new impetus to conversation....
Mr. Lamb oddly walked all round the table, looking closely at any dish
that struck his fancy before he would decide where to sit, telling Mrs.
Hood that he should by that means know how to select some dish that was
difficult to carve, and take the trouble off her hands; accordingly,
having jested in this manner, he placed himself with great deliberation
before a lobster-salad, observing _that_ was the thing. On her asking
him to take some roast fowl, he assented. "What part shall I help you
to, Mr. Lamb?" "Back," said he quickly; "I always prefer the back." My
husband laid down his knife and fork, and, looking upwards, exclaimed:
"By heavens! I could not have believed it, if anybody else had sworn
it." "Believed what?" said kind Mrs. Hood, anxiously, colouring to the
temples, and fancying there was something amiss in the piece he had
been helped to. "Believe what? why, madam, that Charles Lamb was a
backbiter?" Hood gave one of his short, quick laughs, gone almost ere it
had come, whilst Lamb went off into a loud fit of mirth, exclaiming:
"Now, that's devilish good! I'll sup with you to-morrow night.
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