“Why should I?” said Olivia, without turning her head.
Miss Amelia sniffed, and uttered the little cough which always served as a prelude to the lectures which she frequently felt it “her duty” to deliver to her niece.
“Now, my dear Olivia, I do hope that you will not permit yourself to—to—disappoint our excellent young friend. It is evident that he has got up this little affair in your honor, and it would surely be ungracious to disappoint him. Ungraciousness, if I may coin a word, in a lady is, my dear Olivia, unpardonable. Often and often have I, at great inconvenience, accepted an invitation rather than appear ungracious. And I do hope——”
“Is there any tea left, auntie?” broke in Olivia. “You forget me when you are surrounded by your admirers.”
Miss Amelia bridled, then smiled, and simpered:
“My dear Olivia, how can you be so ridiculous? My admirers! I’m sure Mr. Sparrow is old enough to be my grandfather”—in which case poor Mr. Sparrow must have been a modern Methuselah—“and as to Mr. Bradstone, it is not me whom he admires——”
“No sugar, thanks,” said Olivia, cutting in abruptly.
“No! Any one with half an eye could see who it is that he admires, and whose society he seeks. And I must say, my dear Olivia, while I am on the subject, that for a young girl, scarcely out of her teens, your conduct is too cold——”
“This tea is cold,” said Olivia.
“Far too cold,” continued Miss Amelia, disregarding the interruption. “Mr. Bartley Bradstone is a young man worthy of every respect.”