"B--b--but you are all in white," gulped Lucy, trembling all over; for
her delicate fibers were set quivering, and could not be stilled by a
word, fingered at midnight all in a moment by a shape.
"Why, what color should I be--in my nightgown?" snapped the specter.
"What color is yours?" and she gave Lucy a little angry pull--"and
everybody else's?"
"But at the dead of night, aunt, and without any warning--it's
terrible. Oh dear!" (another little gulp in the throat, exceeding
pretty).
"Lucy, be yourself," said the specter, severely; "you used not to be
so selfish as to turn hysterical when your aunt came to you for
advice."
Lucy had to do a little. "Forgive, blessed shade!" She apologized,
crushed down her obtrusive, egotistical tremors, and vibrated to
herself.
Placable Aunt Bazalgette accepted her excuses, and opened the business
that brought her there.
"I didn't leave my bed at this hour for nothing, you may be sure."
"N--no, aunt."
"Lucy," continued Mrs. Bazalgette, deepening, "there is a weight on my
mind."
Up sat Lucy in the bed, and two sapphire eyes opened wide and made
terror lovely.
"Oh, aunt, what have you been doing? It is remorse, then, that will
not let you sleep. Ah! I see! your flirtations--your flirtations--this
is the end of them."
"My flirtations!" cried the other, in great surprise. "I never flirt.
I only amuse myself with them."*
*In strict grammar this "them" ought to refer to "flirtations;" but
Lucy's aunt did not talk strict grammar.
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