“Never having been a college bacchanalian, I am excusable for the inaccuracy,” she retorted. “I did not even know where I picked up the foolish bit. Having ascertained the origin to be of doubtful respectability, I shall never use it again.”
“My sister has alluded to our quartette-club,” pursued Mr. Dorrance, turning from the caustic beauty to Mabel, without noticing the impertinent thrust. “It was the most successful thing of the kind I ever knew of, being composed of thoroughly-trained musicians—amateurs, of course—and practising nothing but classic music, the productions of the best masters. There is something both instructive and elevating in such an association.”
“Especially when the theme of their consideration is the 'Jolly Red Nose,'” interposed the wicked minx at his other elbow.
Two giddy girls tittered, unawed by Mrs. Aylett's proximity and her brother's owl-like stare at his critic.
“You may not be aware, Miss Tazewell, that the lyric to which you have reference is celebrated, both for its antiquity, and the pleasing harmonies that must ever commend it to the taste of the true lover of music; although I allow that to a disciple of the modern and more flimsy school of this glorious art, it may seem puerile and ridiculous,” he remarked, in grandiose patronage. Then, again to Mabel, “There were four of us—as I said—all students. What is it, Clara?”
“I have dropped my bracelet upon the floor, between you and Miss Tazewell,” stooping to shake out Rosa's full skirts from which the trinket fell with a clinking sound.
Three gentlemen darted forward to pick it up, but her husband noted approvingly that while she accepted it graciously from the lucky finder, and thanked the others for their kindly interest in the fate of her “bauble,” she held out her arm to her brother, that he might clasp it again in its place. Affable always, winning whomsoever she chose to admiration of her personal and mental endowments, she never departed from matronly decorum. The company agreed silently, or in guarded asides, that she was charming. No tongue—even the most reckless or venomous—ever lisped the dread word, levity, in connection with her name.
“Take care, my dear brother! you will pinch me!” those near heard her say, and she twisted the golden circlet that the clasp might be uppermost.
Rosa's alert ear caught the hurried murmur which succeeded, and was muffled, so to speak, by her affectionate smile of gratitude.
“What were you about to say? Will you never learn prudence?”