“Really, I don’t care particularly to send it to Teddy,” remarked her mistress. “He’s rather a naughty child sometimes.”
“Yes—that he is.”
“Let’s toss as men do,” said Bathsheba, idly. “Now then, head, Boldwood; tail, Teddy. No, we won’t toss money on a Sunday, that would be tempting the devil indeed.”
“Toss this hymn-book; there can’t be no sinfulness in that, miss.”
“Very well. Open, Boldwood—shut, Teddy. No; it’s more likely to fall open. Open, Teddy—shut, Boldwood.”
The book went fluttering in the air and came down shut.
Bathsheba, a small yawn upon her mouth, took the pen, and with off-hand serenity directed the missive to Boldwood.
“Now light a candle, Liddy. Which seal shall we use? Here’s a unicorn’s head—there’s nothing in that. What’s this?—two doves—no. It ought to be something extraordinary, ought it not, Liddy? Here’s one with a motto—I remember it is some funny one, but I can’t read it. We’ll try this, and if it doesn’t do we’ll have another.”
A large red seal was duly affixed. Bathsheba looked closely at the hot wax to discover the words.
“Capital!” she exclaimed, throwing down the letter frolicsomely. “’Twould upset the solemnity of a parson and clerke too.”