"And, Lucy, love, do
manage better about Mr. Dodd."
Lucy turned scarlet. Luckily, Mrs. Bazalgette was evading her niece's
eye, so did not see her telltale cheek.
"He was quite thrown out last night; and really, as he does not ride
with us, it is too bad to neglect him in-doors."
"Oh, excuse me, aunt, Mr. Dodd is your protege. You did not even tell
me you were going to invite him."
"I beg your pardon, that I certainly did. Poor fellow, he was out of
spirits last night."
"Well, but, aunt, surely you can put an admirer in good spirits when
you think proper," said Lucy slyly.
"Humph! I don't want to attract too much attention. I see Bazalgette
watching me, and I don't wish to be misinterpreted myself, or give my
husband pain."
She said this with such dignity that Lucy, who knew her regard for her
husband, had much ado not to titter. But courtesy prevailed, and she
said gravely: "I will do whatever you wish me, only give me a hint at
the time; a look will do, you know."
The ladies separated; they met again at the breakfast-room door.
Laughter rang merrily inside, and among the gayest voices was Mr.
Dodd's. Lucy gave Mrs. Bazalgette an arch look. "Your patient seems
better; "and they entered the room, where, sure enough, they found Mr.
Dodd the life and soul of the assembled party.
"A letter from Mrs. Wilson, aunt."
"And, pray, who is Mrs. Wilson?"
"My nurse. She tells me 'it is five years since she has seen me, and
she is wearying to see me.
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