Part 2 (2/2)
Lucy colored with mortification. It was death to her to annoy anyone; so her aunt had thrust her into a cruel position.
”Poor Mr. Bazalgette!” sighed she.
”Fiddle de dee. Let him go, and come back in a better temper--set transparent; so then, backed by the violet, you know, they will imitate dewdrops to the life.”
”Charming! Why not let Olivier do it for you, as poor Baldwin cannot?”
”Because Olivier works for the Claytons, and we should have that Emily Clayton out as my double; and as we visit the same houses--”
”And as she is extremely pretty--aunt, what a generalissima you are!”
”Pretty! Snub-nosed little toad. No, she is not pretty. But she is eighteen; so I can't afford to dress her. No. I see I shall have to moderate my views for this gown, and buy another dress for the flowers and diamonds. There, take it off, and let us think it calmly over. I never act in a hurry but I am sorry for it afterward--I mean in things of real importance.” The gown was taken off in silence, broken only by occasional sighs from the sufferer, in whose heart a dozen projects battled fiercely for the mastery, and worried and sore perplexed her, and rent her inmost soul fiercely divers ways.
”Black lace, dear,” suggested Lucy, soothingly.
Mrs. B. curled her arm lovingly round Lucy's waist. ”Just what I was beginning to think,” said she, warmly. ”And we can't both be mistaken, can we? But where can I get enough?” and her countenance, that the cheering coincidence had rendered seraphic, was once more clouded with doubt.
”Why, you have yards of it.”
”Yes, but mine is all made up in some form or other, and it musses one's things so to pick them to pieces.”
”So it does, dear,” replied Lucy, with gentle but genuine feeling.
”It would only be for one night, Lucy--I should not hurt it, love--you would not like to fetch down your Brussels point scarf, and see how it would look, would you? We need not cut the lace, dear; we could tack it on again the next morning; you are not so particular as I am--you look well in anything.”
Lucy was soon seated denuding herself and embellis.h.i.+ng her aunt. The latter reclined with grace, and furthered the work by smile and gesture.
”You don't ask me about the skirmish in the nursery.”
”Their squabbles bore me, dear; but you can tell me who was the most in fault, if you think it worth while.”
”Reginald, then, I am afraid; but it is not the poor boy; it is the influence of the stable-yard; and I do advise and entreat you to keep him out of it.”
”Impossible, my dear; you don't know boys. The stable is their paradise. When he grows older his father must interfere; meantime, let us talk of something more agreeable.”
”Yes; you shall go on with your story. You had got to his look of despair when your papa came in that morning.”
”Oh, I have no time for anybody's despair just now; I can think of nothing but this detestable gown. Lucy, I suspect I almost wish I had made them put another breadth into the skirt.”
”Luncheon, ma'am.”
Lucy begged her aunt to go down alone; she would stay and work.
”No, you must come to luncheon; there is a dish on purpose for you--stewed eels.”
”Eels; why, I abhor them; I think they are water-serpents.”
”Who is it that is so fond of them, then?”
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