Part 40 (2/2)
Think.”
”Never.”
”Then he must be a good man. Apropos, is Mr. Hardie a good man, aunt?”
”Why, of course he is.”
”How do you know?”
”I never heard of any scandal against him.”
”Oh, I don't mean your negative goodness. You never heard anything against _me_ out of doors.”
”Well, and are you not a good girl?”
”Me, aunt? Why, you know I am not.”
”Bless me, what have you done?”
”I have done nothing, aunt,” exclaimed Lucy, ”and the good are never nullities. Then I am not open, which is a great fault in a character.
But I can't help it! I can't! I can't!”
”Well, you need not break your heart for that. You will get over it before you have been married a year. Look at me; I was as shy as any of you at first going off, but now I can speak my mind; and a good thing too, or what would become of me among the selfish set?”
”Meaning me, dear?”
”No. Divide it among you. Come, this is idle talk. Men's voices, and whether they are good, bad, or indifferent, as if that mattered a pin, provided their incomes are good and their manners endurable. I want a little serious conversation with you.”
”Do you?” and Lucy colored faintly; ”with all my heart.”
”We go to the Hunts' ball the day after to-morrow, Lucy; I suppose you know that? Now what on earth am I to wear? that is the question. There is no time to get a new dress made, and I have not got one--”
”That you have not worn at least once.”
”Some of them twice and three times;” and the B looked aghast at the state of nudity to which she was reduced. Lucy sidled toward the door.
”Since you consult me, dear, I advise you to wear what I mean to wear myself.”
”Ah! what a capital idea! then we shall pa.s.s for sisters. I dare say I have got some old thing or other that will match yours; but you had better tell me at once what you do mean to wear.”
”A gown, a pair of gloves, and a smirk”; and with this heartless expression of nonchalance Lucy glided away and escaped the impending shower.
”Oh, the selfishness of these girls!” cried the deserted one. ”I have got her a husband to her taste, so now she runs away from me to think of him.”
The next moment she looked at the enormity from another point of view, and then with this burst of injured virtue gave way to a steady complacency.
”She is caught at last. She notices his very voice. She fancies she cares for politics--ha! ha! She is gone to meditate on him--could not bear any other topic--would not even talk about dress, a thing her whole soul was wrapped up in till now. I have known her to go on for hours at a stretch about it.”
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