Dolly had by this time heard a good many well-found anecdotes from Lucian, and had learned that his personal experiences were sometimes culled from another person’s past. “I don’t believe that,” she said, calmly.
“Well, anyhow, she gave me a penny once when I begged of her—fact!” said Lucian, unabashed.
“Where?”
“At a fancy ball where I went got up as a blind beggar; I was the success of the evening. She’s a right-down good sort, is little Ella Merton. You never told me how you got on when she called, by the way.”
“I think, pretty well,” said Dolly, doubtfully. “Fortunately, I saw the carriage driving down, and I sent Maggie to open the door, instead of going myself.” Maggie was a little black-eyed maiden of fourteen, who helped in the housework. “I had put fresh flowers in the parlour that very morning, and I was wearing this dress—now it is tumbled, but it was fresh then—”
“And you didn’t change it?”
“No, I did not; should I have?”
“No, you did quite right, Sweet Lavender. Well?”
“I went in, and we talked. She stayed for an hour. Part of that time I was out fetching tea; it seemed rude, but I explained to her that Maggie was not strong enough to carry the silver salver. I used the red-and-gold china that you like, and there were scones and flead-cakes, and I put out some apricots in syrup; but very little of each, not as Bernard likes them. I thought that must be right, because she ate less even than you do. Was it?”
Lucian was laughing without disguise as he commended her wisdom. “And what did you talk about?”