“Does she?” he asked, helplessly, beginning to suspect what had angered this angel of a woman.
“Your dear aunt, sir, hinted that I am getting too old to dance.”
“You—too old—to dance?”
“Yes. And did you notice, Richard, that I was sent down to supper with Dr. Sugg? So you read your poetry to Mary Sugg, cousin, eh? And write verses about Miss Julia Perkaby? Heavens, how hot the room is! I wish the butler would announce our coach.”
Richard, pitifully bewildered, stared at Miss Jilian, and felt that the room was certainly overheated.
“I have never read my poems to Mary Sugg,” he began.
Miss Jilian’s lip curled.
“She thinks them equal to Spenser’s, cousin.”
“What! Did she tell you so?”
“Oh, dear, no; she is not so innocent.”