"But he is not humpbacked, Aunt Olympia," said the literal Dora.
My lady walked about in a fume, moved and removed books and papers, and tried to restrain a violent impulse of displeasure. She took up the review that contained Harry Musgrave's paper, and said with impatience, "Dora, how often must I beg of you to put away the books that are done with? Surely this is done with."
"I have not finished reading Harry's article yet: please let me take it," said Bessie, coming forward.
"'Harry's article'? What do you mean?" demanded Lady Latimer with austerity: "'Mr. Harry Musgrave' would sound more becoming."
"I forgot to tell you: the paper you and Mr. Logger were discussing the first evening I was here was written by Mr. Harry Musgrave," said Bessie demurely, but not without pride.
"Oh, indeed! The crudeness Mr. Logger remarked in it is accounted for, then," said my lady, and Bessie's triumph was abated. Also my lady carried off the review, and she saw it no more.
"It is only Aunt Olympia's way," whispered Dora to comfort her. "It will go off. She is very fond of you, but you must know you are dreadfully provoking. I wonder how you dare?"
"And is not she dreadfully provoking?" rejoined Bessie, and began to laugh. "But I am too happy to be intimidated. She will forgive me—if not to-day, then to-morrow, or if not to-morrow, then the day after; or I can have patience longer. But I will not be ruled by her—never!"