Creation's unmarried lords, realize your true position--girls govern you, and wives govern girls.
Mrs. Bazalgette, on Lucy's entrance, ran a critical eye over her, and scolded her like a six-year-old for walking in thin shoes.
“Only on the gravel, aunt,” said the divine slave, submissively.
“No matter; it rained last night. I heard it patter. You want to be laid up, I suppose.”
“I will put on thicker ones in future, dear aunt,” murmured the celestial serf.
Now Mrs. Bazalgette did not really care a button whether the servile angel wore thick soles or thin. She was cross about something a mile off that. As soon as she had vented her ill humor on a sham cause, she could come to its real cause good-temperedly. “And, Lucy, love, do manage better about Mr. Dodd.”
Lucy turned scarlet. Luckily, Mrs. Bazalgette was evading her niece's eye, so did not see her telltale cheek.
“He was quite thrown out last night; and really, as he does not ride with us, it is too bad to neglect him in-doors.”
“Oh, excuse me, aunt, Mr. Dodd is your protege. You did not even tell me you were going to invite him.”
“I beg your pardon, that I certainly did. Poor fellow, he was out of spirits last night.”
“Well, but, aunt, surely you can put an admirer in good spirits when you think proper,” said Lucy slyly.
“Humph! I don't want to attract too much attention. I see Bazalgette watching me, and I don't wish to be misinterpreted myself, or give my husband pain.”
She said this with such dignity that Lucy, who knew her regard for her husband, had much ado not to titter. But courtesy prevailed, and she said gravely: “I will do whatever you wish me, only give me a hint at the time; a look will do, you know.”
The ladies separated; they met again at the breakfast-room door. Laughter rang merrily inside, and among the gayest voices was Mr. Dodd's. Lucy gave Mrs. Bazalgette an arch look. “Your patient seems better;” and they entered the room, where, sure enough, they found Mr. Dodd the life and soul of the assembled party.
“My nurse. She tells me 'it is five years since she has seen me, and she is wearying to see me.' What a droll expression, 'wearying.'”
“You have heard the word before, Mr. Dodd?”
“No, I can't say I have; but I know what it must mean.”