“And what is it you propose that I should do?” asked she, with seeming innocence.
“Write her a note,—brief if you like, but very civil,—full of excuses for anything that may have given her offence; say all about your ignorance of life, newness to the world, and so on; declare your readiness to accept any suggestions she will kindly give you for future conduct,—for she knows society like a book,—and conclude by assuring her—Well!” cried he, suddenly, for she had started from him so abruptly that he forgot his dictation.
“Go on,—go on,” said she, resuming her calm tone.
“You 've put me out,” cried he; “I can't remember where I was. Stay—I was saying—What was it? it was something like—”
“Something like 'I 'll not do it any more,'” said Lizzy, with a low laugh; while, at the same instant, she opened her writing-desk and sat down to write.
Now, although Beecher would have preferred seeing her accept this lesson with more show of humility, he was, on the whole, well satisfied with her submission. He watched her as her pen moved across the paper, and saw that she wrote in a way that indicated calm composure and not passion. The note was quickly finished; and as she was folding it, she stopped, and said, “But perhaps you might like to read it?”
“Of course I 'd like to read it,” said he, eagerly, taking it op and reading aloud:—
“'The Viscountess Lackington having received Lord
Lackington's orders to apologize to Georgina, Viscountess
Lackington, for certain expressions which may have offended
her, willingly accepts the task as one likely to indicate to
her Ladyship the propriety of excusing her own conduct to
one who had come to claim her kindness and protection.'
“And would you presume to send her such a note as this?” cried he, as he crushed it up and flung it into the fire.
“Not now,” said she, with a quiet smile.