"They make her dresses better than they do mine;
they take more pains." At last she found one that was new to her,
though Lucy had worn it several times at Font Abbey.
"Where did she get this, Jane?"
"Present from the old gentleman, mum; he had it down from London for
her all at one time with this shawl and twelve puragloves."
Lucy looked two inches taller than Mrs. B., but somehow, I can't tell
how, this dress of hers fitted the latter like a glove. It embraced
her; it held her tenderly, but tight, as gowns and lovers should. The
poor dear could not get out of it. "I _must_ wear it an hour or
two," said she. "Besides, it will save my own, knocking about in these
country lanes." Thus attired she went into the drawing-room to
surprise Lucy. Now Lucy was determined not to move; so, not to be
enticed, she did not even look up from her work; on this the other
took a mild huff and whisked out.
So keen are the feminine senses, that Lucy, on reflection, recognized
something brusk, perhaps angry, in the rustle of that retiring dress,
and soon after rang the bell and inquired where Mrs. Bazalgette was.
John would make henquiries.
"Your haunt is in the back garden, miss."
"Walking, or what?"
John would make henquiries.
"She is reading, miss; and she is sitting on the seat master 'ad made
for _you,_ miss.
"Very well: thank you."
"Any more commands, miss?"
"Not at present." John retired with a regretful air, as one capable of
executing important commissions, but lost for lack of opportunity.
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