Lucy colored with mortification. It was death to her to annoy anyone;
so her aunt had thrust her into a cruel position.

"Poor Mr. Bazalgette!" sighed she.

"Fiddle de dee. Let him go, and come back in a better temper--set
transparent; so then, backed by the violet, you know, they will
imitate dewdrops to the life."

"Charming! Why not let Olivier do it for you, as poor Baldwin cannot?"

"Because Olivier works for the Claytons, and we should have that Emily
Clayton out as my double; and as we visit the same houses--"

"And as she is extremely pretty--aunt, what a generalissima you are!"

"Pretty! Snub-nosed little toad. No, she is not pretty. But she is
eighteen; so I can't afford to dress her. No. I see I shall have to
moderate my views for this gown, and buy another dress for the flowers
and diamonds. There, take it off, and let us think it calmly over. I
never act in a hurry but I am sorry for it afterward--I mean in things
of real importance." The gown was taken off in silence, broken only by
occasional sighs from the sufferer, in whose heart a dozen projects
battled fiercely for the mastery, and worried and sore perplexed her,
and rent her inmost soul fiercely divers ways.

"Black lace, dear," suggested Lucy, soothingly.

Mrs. B. curled her arm lovingly round Lucy's waist. "Just what I was
beginning to think," said she, warmly. "And we can't both be mistaken,