CHAPTER XII.
THE VILLA LAMBERT.
Twenty-four hours at a Genevese hotel were got through by Georgie and her cousin without difficulty.
"I do think," said Lucy, "that Reginald might have brought us here himself. I confess that a tête-à-tête of two women is dull; when they are almost sisters, as a rule it's duller still; though the dulness is frequently enlivened by a pitched battle. Georgie, why are you not of a pugnacious disposition? My fingers literally itch to box some one's ears; as for Hephzibah, I've no patience with her."
"I noticed that you had set her crying again, Lucy, for about the tenth time to-day."
"And serve her right, she's over head and ears in love with that priceless jewel, your husband's man; it's as plain as the nose on her face, and there's no doubt of the plainness of that. I know the symptoms, they are unmistakable: they always are, among the ministering classes. He was Capt before, now it's 'Mr. Capt' here and 'Mr. Capt' there. Mistering is always the first sign, Georgie. No, I've no patience with her at all. It appears he gave her a thermometer about a week ago; she has carried this thing about in her pocket ever since; the mercury has got separated, and she passes her whole time in weeping and shaking the horrid thing, and trying to get it back again. Now I ask you, Georgie, just look at her."
A mirror, turned towards an open door, disclosed the lovelorn Hephzibah in the next room. Her proceedings were sufficiently grotesque. In her hand she held a small ornamental thermometer; she would shake it violently in the air, she would then regard it intently with a puzzled expression, then she would shake her head and proceed to furiously agitate it once more. Failing in her purpose, she wept bitterly.
Good-natured as Georgina was, she could not resist a smile.