Here was the second lady I had insulted on that summer day!
“I did but suggest it—it was her own wish.”
“Your suggestion is her wish! How charming!” said the duchess.
“You are unjust to her!” I said, a little warmly.
The duchess rose from the corn bin, made the very most of her sixty-three inches, and remarked:
“It’s a new insult to mention her to me.”
I passed that by; it was too absurd to answer.
“You must take it now I’ve brought it,” I urged in angry puzzle.
The duchess put out her hand, grasped the case delicately, shut it—and flung it to the other side of the stable, hard by where an old ass was placidly eating a bundle of hay.
“That’s the last time I shall touch it!” said she, turning and looking me in the face.