“La! miss, why, it is witchcraft—­the dear child—­soon up and soon down, as a boy should.”

“Beg par’n, nurse—­beg par’n, Kitty,” recited the dear child, late tiger, and kissed them both hastily; and, this double formula gone through, ran to Miss Fountain and kissed her with warmth, while the nurses were reciting “little angel,” “all heart,” etc.

“To take the taste out of my mouth,” explained the penitent, and was left with his propitiated females; and didn’t they nag him at short intervals until sunset!  But, strong in the contemplation of his future union with Cousin Lucy, this great heart in a little body despised the pins and needles that had goaded him to fury before.

Lucy went down to the drawing-room.  She found Mrs. Bazalgette leaning with one elbow on the table, her hand shading her high, polished forehead; her grave face reflecting great mental power taxed to the uttermost.  So Newton looked, solving Nature.

Miss Fountain came in full of the nursery business, but, catching sight of so much mind in labor, approached it with silent curiosity.

The oracle looked up with an absorbed air, and delivered itself very slowly, with eye turned inward.

“I am afraid—­I don’t think—­I quite like my new dress.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“That would not matter; I never like anything till I have altered it; but here is Baldwin has just sent me word that her mother is dying, and she can’t undertake any work for a week.  Provoking! could not the woman die just as well after the ball?”

“Oh, aunt!”

“And my maid has no more taste than an owl.  What on earth am I to do?”

“Wear another dress.”

“What other can I?”

“Nothing can be prettier than your white mousseline de soie with the tartan trimming.”

“No, I have worn that at four balls already; I won’t be known by my colors, like a bird.  I have made up my mind to wear the jaune, and I will, in spite of them all; that is, if I can find anybody who cares enough for me to try it on, and tell me what it wants.”  Lucy offered at once to go with her to her room and try it on.

“No—­no—­it is so cold there; we will do it here by the fire.  You will find it in the large wardrobe, dear.  Mind how you carry it.  Lucy! lots of pins.”

Mrs. Bazalgette then rang the bell, and told the servant to say she was out if anyone called, no matter who.

Meantime Lucy, impressed with the gravity of her office, took the dress carefully down from the pegs; and as it would have been death to crease it, and destruction to let its hem sweep against any of the inferior forms of matter, she came down the stairs and into the room holding this female weapon of destruction as high above her head as Judith waves the sword of Holofernes in Etty’s immortal picture.

The other had just found time to loosen her dress and lock one of the doors.  She now locked the other, and the rites began.  Well!!??