“She will take neither, I am afraid.”
“Oh, yes, she will.”
“Which?”
“Ah! the one she dislikes the least.”
“By Jove, you are right—you are an angel.” And the old gentleman in his gratitude to her who was outwitting him, and vice versa, kissed Mrs. Bazalgette's hand with great devotion, in which act he was surprised by Lucy, who floated through the folding-doors. She said nothing, but her face volumes.
“Sit down, love.”
“Yes, aunt.”
She sat down, and her eye mildly bored both relatives, like, if you can imagine a gentle gimlet, worked by insinuation, not force.
Then the favored Fountain enjoyed the inestimable privilege of beholding a small bout of female fence.
The accomplished actress of forty began.