“But one can change them.”
“But, to use their own language, one is not sure of bettering oneself—and then their wages are to be paid—and all one’s little family secrets are at their mercy.”
“It’s very provoking—it is very provoking!” repeated Miss Georgiana, walking up and down the room. “Such an extortioner!—for my amber satin, and my white satin, and my black lace, and my pink crape, only nine guineas! What do you think of that, ma’am?”
“I think, my dear, you pay a prodigious premium for ready money; but nine guineas will dress Zara decently, I dare say, if that’s your object.”
“Nine guineas! ma’am,” cried Miss Georgiana, “impossible! I can’t act at all—so there’s an end of the matter.”
“Not an end of the matter quite,” said Mrs. Falconer, coolly; “for in that case I must look out for another Zara.”
“And where will you find one, ma’am?”
“The Lady Arlingtons have both fine figures—and, I dare say, would either of them oblige me.”
“Not they. Lady Anne, with her indolence and her languor—a lady who looks as if she was saying, ‘Quasha, tell Quaco to tell Fibba to pick up this pin that lies at my foot;’ do you think she’d get a part by heart, ma’am, to oblige you—or that she could, if she would, act Zara?—No more than she could fly!”
“But her sister, Lady Frances, would and could,” said Mrs. Falconer. “She is quick enough, and I know she longs to try Zara.”