But Lady Beranger’s unmistakable wrath nips the laughter in the bud, and after an instant, Gabrielle asks in rather a constrained voice:
“If you intend to nestle all day on those cushions, I really must go out, Trixy.”
“Trixy will remain at home. I especially request it,” decrees her mother.
“But I have no wish to see that horrid Mr. Stubbs,” Trixy murmurs petulantly. “I’ll be nasty to him if I am made to see him!”
“Trixy!”
“I promised Lord Delaval to work him a pair of slippers and I must go and choose the crewels,” Trixy answers determinedly. “And besides, Mr. Hamilton and one or two of the Irish Fusiliers are going with Gabrielle and me to see the trysting well in Archer’s Wood.”
“And one admirer at home is not half so amusing as half-a-dozen outside, is he, Trixy?” says incorrigible Gabrielle.
“I wish you wouldn’t amuse yourself at my expense always, Gabrielle! If you wish to know the truth, I do not want to go out to see all those men so much as I want to shop. I must have a new dress for the Annesleighs’ ball on Monday, and I cannot trust you to order it. You haven’t a bit of artistic taste and no eye for colours. In fact, your ideas are so wretchedly bizarre.”
“Thanks! I never did go in for dress,” Gabrielle answers flippantly. “You see beauty unadorned is adorned the most—but dolls are always prettier for the frocks they have on.”
“You can go with me in the carriage to Stallard’s and order the dress, Trixy—it will be much cooler, and less likely to hurt your complexion—after Mr. Stubbs’ visit,” Lady Beranger says suavely, but Trixy suddenly remembering the trip to Archer’s Wood, and her host of admirers, frowns.