“But, Lizzy dearest, you don't know what you are saying. Lady Georgina can establish your position in society as none other can.”
“I mean to do that without aid.”
“Just as her father, Mr. Grog, would force his way into the stand-house,” whispered Lady Lackington, but still loud enough for Lizzy to overhear.
“Not exactly as your Ladyship would illustrate it,” said Lizzy, smiling; “but, in seeing the amount of those gifts which have won the suffrages of society, I own that I am not discouraged. I am told,” said she, with a great air of artlessness, “that no one is more popular than your Ladyship.”
Lady Lackington arose, and stared at her with a look of open insolence; and then turning, whispered something in Beecher's ear.
“After all,” muttered he, “she did not begin it. Get your shawl, Lizzy,” added he, aloud; “my sister keeps early hours, and we must not break in on them.”
Lady Lackington and Lizzy courtesied to each other like ladies of high comedy; it seemed, indeed, a sort of rivalry whose reverence should be most formal and most deferential.
“Have n't you gone and done it!” cried Beecher, as they gained the street. “Georgina will never forget this so long as she lives.”
“And if she did I 'd take care to refresh her memory,” said Lizzy, laughing; and the mellow sounds rang out as if from a heart that never knew a care.
“I shall require to set out for England to-morrow,” said Beecher, moodily, so soon as they had reached the hotel. The speech was uttered to induce a rejoinder, but she made none.