Having addressed three brief sentences to the astonished old lady, the Countess now turned to her other guests, and directed her conversation to them. Mr. Warrington was not a little diverted by her behaviour, and by the appearance of surprise and wrath which began to gather over Madame Bernstein's face. “La petite,” whom the Baroness proposed to “form,” was rather a rebellious subject, apparently, and proposed to take a form of her own. Looking once or twice rather anxiously towards his wife, my lord tried to atone for her pertness towards his aunt by profuse civility on his own part; indeed, when he so wished, no man could be more courteous or pleasing. He found a score of agreeable things to say to Madame Bernstein. He warmly congratulated Mr. Warrington on the glorious news which had come from America, and on his brother's safety. He drank a toast at supper to Captain Warrington. “Our family is distinguishing itself, cousin,” he said; and added, looking with fond significance towards his Countess, “I hope the happiest days are in store for us all.”
“Yes, George!” says the little lady. “You'll write and tell Harry that we are all very much pleased with him. This action at Quebec is a most glorious action; and now we have turned the French king out of the country, shouldn't be at all surprised if we set up for ourselves in America.”
“My love, you are talking treason!” cries Lord Castlewood.
“I am talking reason, anyhow, my lord. I've no notion of folks being kept down, and treated as children for ever!”
George! Harry! I protest I was almost as much astonished as amused. “When my brother hears that your ladyship is satisfied with his conduct, his happiness will be complete,” I said gravely.
Next day, when talking beside her sofa, where she chose to lie in state, the little Countess no longer called her cousin “George,” but “Mr. George,” as before; on which Mr. George laughingly said she had changed her language since the previous day.
“Guess I did it to tease old Madam Buzwig,” says her ladyship. “She wants to treat me as a child, and do the grandmother over me. I don't want no grandmothers, I don't. I'm the head of this house, and I intend to let her know it. And I've brought her all the way from London in order to tell it her, too! La! how she did look when I called you George! I might have called you George—only you had seen that little Theo first, and liked her best, I suppose.”
“Yes, I suppose I like her best,” says Mr. George.
“Well, I like you because you tell the truth. Because you was the only one of 'em in London who didn't seem to care for my money, though I was downright mad and angry with you once, and with myself too, and with that little sweetheart of yours, who ain't to be compared to me, I know she ain't.”
“Don't let us make the comparison, then!” I said, laughing.