“Oh no, aunt,” said Clotilde; “I feel better. Don’t you, Marie?”
“Oh yes,” said that young lady; “it was a delightful party.”
“It was, my dears,” said the Honourable Philippa, letting the water from the urn run over the top of the teapot. “Bless me, how careless! I am glad I consented to allow you both to go, for you see how necessary to a proper state of existence a due amount of money becomes.”
“How admirably dear Lady Littletown manages her income!” said the Honourable Isabella.
“Yes, and how needful a good income really is! Yes, it was a very distingué dinner. Marie, my child, Lord Henry Moorpark is most gentlemanly, is he not?”
“Oh yes, I like him very much,” replied Marie, with animation, and a slight flush in her cheek, for she had been suddenly appealed to when thinking about Marcus Glen, and the way he had glanced at her more than once. “He seems a very nice old gentleman.”
“Hem!” coughed the Honourable Philippa austerely. “I do not think him old.”
“Certainly not!” exclaimed the Honourable Isabella; “hardly elderly.”
“Decidedly no,” continued the Honourable Philippa. “By the way, Clotilde, my love, you found Mr Elbraham very pleasant?”
“Oh yes, aunt.”