"Hurts you, my mouse?"--this was one of Hetty's tender, fantastic
names for her. "Why then, I ask your pardon and must try to amend.
You are right. I _was_ flippant; you might even have said vulgar.
Proceed, Emilia,--do you hear? I beg your pardon. Tell us more of
the Arch-Rebel--

"And courage never to submit or yield
And what is else not to be overcome . . ."

Say it over in your great voice, Emmy, and purge us poor rebels of
vulgarity."

"Pardon me," Emilia answered icily, "I am not conscious of being a
rebel--nor of any temptation to be vulgar."

Molly shot an imploring glance at Hetty: but it was too late, and she
knew it.

"Hoity-toity! So we are not rebellious--not even Emilia when she
thinks of her Leybourne!" Emilia bit her lip. "Nor Patty when she
thinks of Johnny Romley? And we are never vulgar? Ah, but forgive
your poor sister, who goes into service next week! You must allow
her to practise the accomplishments which will endear her to the
servants' hall, and which Mr. Grantham will pay for and expect.
Indeed--since Milton is denied us--I have some lines here; a petition
to be handed to mother to-night when she returns. She may not grant
it, but she must at least commend her daughter's attempt to catch the
tone." And drawing a folded paper from her waistband, she drawled
the following, in the broadest Lincolnshire accent: