"Perhaps it is rheumatism," suggested Rachel; "or lumbago."
"Nonsense. Lumbago, indeed! One would think he was a patriarch. But if he doesn't waltz——"
Lucilla paused in perplexity.
"Does Mr. Gordon waltz?" Rachel meekly inquired.
"Oh, no doubt—sure to. I have never seen him, but all those old army men dance well."
"Then I suppose Mr. Dalrymple dances well?"
"Of course he does. Poor fellow, he excels in everything that is of no consequence. Oh, yes, Mr. Dalrymple is decidedly an acquisition in a ball-room, whatever he may be elsewhere."
"Lucilla!"
"What, dear?"
"Why do you all speak of him in that hard way? You are so kind to everybody else, but for him nobody seems to have a good word. I think it is so cruel!" she broke out with sudden passion. "The way Mrs. Hale insulted him the other night—a man like that, whom she was not fit to associate with—and all of you sitting round and letting her do it—I think it is dreadful!"