“Your loving sister,
“Fanny Crauford.”
“Fanny is quite right,” said Mrs. Langrishe, with a slight tinge of contempt in her tone. “She is by no means clever—just an impulsive, good-natured goose, without a scrap of tact, and is taken in and imposed on on all sides. I won’t have the pony, that is positive, and gram ten seers for the rupee.”
“Then you have quite decided to take the young lady?” exclaimed her companion incredulously.
“Yes;” now leaning back and clasping two long white hands behind her head. “Pretty, amusing, accomplished, good-tempered—I don’t see how I can possibly say no this time, though hitherto I have steadily set my face against having out one of my nieces. I have always said it was so dreadfully unfair to Granby. However, this niece is actually stranded in the country, and it would look so odd if I declined; besides, I shall like to have her; we shall mutually benefit one another. She will amuse me—rejuvenate me; be useful in the house—arrange flowers, write notes, read to me, dust the ornaments, make coffee and salad, and do all sorts of little odd jobs, and ultimately cover me with glory by making the match of the season!”
“And on your part—what is to be your rôle?”
“I will give her a charming home; I will have all the best men here, and I will take her everywhere; give her, if necessary, a couple of smart new ball-dresses, and that too delicious opera-mantle that has grown too small for me.”
“Or you too large for it—which?” inquired Mrs. Sladen, with a slight elevation of her eyebrows.
“Milly, how odious you can be!”
“And about Major Langrishe?” continued Milly, unabashed.
“Oh, Granby will be all right; but I must write to Fanny by this post, and say that I shall be delighted to have Lalla. Pour out the tea like a good little creature, whilst I scribble a line; the dâk goes down at six.”