Here Jane looks crestfallen, and the footman triumphant.
"I wish you would both try to improve," goes on Dulce, in a tone meant to be still dignified, but which might almost be termed entreating. "Do try. You will find it so much pleasanter in the long run."
Both culprits, though silent, show unmistakable signs of giving in.
"If you only knew how unhappy these endless dissensions make me, I am sure you would try," says Miss Blount, earnestly, which, of course, ends all things. The maid begins to weep copiously behind the daintiest of aprons; while the footman mutters, huskily:
"Then I will try, ma'am," with unlooked-for force.
"Oh, thank you," says Dulce, with pretty gratitude, under cover of which the two belligerents make their escape.
"Well done," says Sir Mark at this moment; "really, Dulce, I didn't believe it was in you. Such dignity, such fervor, such tact, such pathos! We are all very nearly in tears. I would almost promise not to blow up Jane myself, if you asked me like that."
"What a shame!" exclaims Dulce, starting and growing crimson, as she becomes aware they have all been listening to her little lecture. "I call it right down mean to go listening to people behind their backs. It is horrid! And you, too, Portia! So shabby!"
"Now who is scolding," says Portia; "and after your charming sermon, too, to Jennings, all about the evil effects of losing one's temper."
"If you only knew how unhappy it makes us," says Dicky Browne, mimicking Dulce's own manner of a moment since so exactly that they all laugh aloud; and Dulce, forgetting her chagrin, laughs, too, even more heartily than they do.