“Then, in that case, there can be no difficulty in regard to Captain Levison,” coldly spoke Lady Isabel.
“I don’t want his company—I am not fond of it,” cried Miss Carlyle. “I would go to Mrs. Jefferson’s, but that I should want a new dress.”
“That’s easily had,” said Lady Isabel. “I shall want one myself.”
“You want a new dress!” uttered Miss Carlyle. “Why, you have a dozen!”
“I don’t know that I could count a dozen in all,” returned Lady Isabel, chafing at the remark, and the continual thwarting put upon her by Miss Carlyle, which had latterly seemed more than hard to endure. Petty evils are more difficult to support than great ones, take notice.
Lady Isabel concluded her note, folded, sealed it, and then rang the bell. As the man left the room with it, she desired that Wilson might be sent to her.
“Is it this morning, Wilson, that the dressmaker comes to try on Miss Isabel’s dress?” she inquired.
Wilson hesitated and stammered, and glanced from her mistress to Miss Carlyle. The latter looked up from her work.
“The dressmaker’s not coming,” spoke she, sharply. “I countermanded the order for the frock, for Isabel does not require it.”
“She does require it,” answered Lady Isabel, in perhaps the most displeased tone she had ever used to Miss Carlyle. “I am a competent judge of what is necessary for my children.”