"The lady is
asleep. See, she has dropped her book." And; in fact, the whole
attitude was lax and not ungraceful. Her right hand hung down, and the
domestic story, its duty done, reposed beneath.
"Now, Arthur," said the senior, making himself young to please the
boy, and to show him that, if he looked old, he was not worn out,
"would you like a bit of fun? We will startle her--we'll give her a
kiss." Arthur hung back irresolute, and his cheeks were dyed with
blushes.
"Not you, you young rogue; you are not her uncle." The old gentleman
then stole up at the back of the seat, followed with respectful
curiosity by Arthur. She happened to move as the senior got near; so,
for fear she was going to wake of herself and baffle the surprise, he
made a rush and rubbed his beard a little roughly against Mrs.
Bazalgette's cheek. Up starts that lady, who was not fast asleep, but
only under the influence of the domestic tale, utters a scream, and,
when she sees her ravisher, goes into a passion.
"How dare you? What is the meaning of this insult?"
"How came you here?" was the reply, in an equally angry tone.
"Can't a lady come into your little misery of a garden without being
outraged?"
"It isn't the garden--it is only the back garden," cried the
proprietor of Font Hill; _"(blesse)_ I'll swear that is my
niece's gown; so you've invaded that, too."
"Aunt Bazalgette--Uncle Fountain, it was my fault," sighed a piteous
voice. This was Lucy, who had just come on the scene.
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