“It would only be for one night, Lucy—I should not hurt it, love—you would not like to fetch down your Brussels point scarf, and see how it would look, would you? We need not cut the lace, dear; we could tack it on again the next morning; you are not so particular as I am—you look well in anything.”
Lucy was soon seated denuding herself and embellishing her aunt. The latter reclined with grace, and furthered the work by smile and gesture.
“You don't ask me about the skirmish in the nursery.”
“Their squabbles bore me, dear; but you can tell me who was the most in fault, if you think it worth while.”
“Reginald, then, I am afraid; but it is not the poor boy; it is the influence of the stable-yard; and I do advise and entreat you to keep him out of it.”
“Impossible, my dear; you don't know boys. The stable is their paradise. When he grows older his father must interfere; meantime, let us talk of something more agreeable.”
“Yes; you shall go on with your story. You had got to his look of despair when your papa came in that morning.”
“Oh, I have no time for anybody's despair just now; I can think of nothing but this detestable gown. Lucy, I suspect I almost wish I had made them put another breadth into the skirt.”
“Luncheon, ma'am.”
Lucy begged her aunt to go down alone; she would stay and work.