She was up in fair time, and had written a long and particular account to Bertha of everything in the festivities not recorded in this narrative, before Miss Charlecote awoke from the compensating morning slumber that had succeeded a sad and unrestful night. Late as they were, they were down-stairs before any one but the well-seasoned Rashe, who sat beguiling the time with a Bradshaw, and who did not tell them how intolerably cross Cilly had been all the morning.
Nor would any one have suspected it who had seen her, last of all, come down at a quarter to eleven, in the most exultant spirits, talking the height of rodomontade with the gentlemen guests, and dallying with her breakfast, while Phœbe’s heart was throbbing at the sight of two grave figures, her brother and the curate, slowly marching up and down the cloister, in waiting till this was over.
And there sat Lucilla inventing adventures for an imaginary tour to be brought out on her return by the name of ‘Girls in Galway’—‘From the Soirée to the Salmon’—‘Flirts and Fools-heads,’ as Owen and Charles discontentedly muttered to each other, or, as Mr. Calthorp proposed, ‘The Angels and the Anglers.’ The ball was to be the opening chapter. Lord William entreated for her costume as the frontispiece, and Mr. Calthorp begged her to re-assume it, and let her cousin photograph her on the spot.
Lucilla objected to the impracticability of white silk, the inconvenience of unpacking the apparatus, the nuisance of
dressing, the lack of time; but Rashe was delighted with the idea, and made light of all, and the gentlemen pressed her strongly, till with rather more of a consent than a refusal, she rose from her nearly untasted breakfast, and began to move away.
‘Cilla,’ said Mr. Prendergast, at the window, ‘can I have a word with you?’
‘At your service,’ she answered, as she came out to him, and saw that Robert had left him. ‘Only be quick; they want to photograph me in my ball-dress.’
‘You won’t let them do it, though,’ said the curate.
‘White comes out hideous,’ said Lucilla; ‘I suppose you would not have a copy, if I took one off for you?’
‘No; I don’t like those visitors of yours well enough to see you turned into a merry-andrew to please them.’