All this day Reginald George Bazalgette, Esq., might have been defined “a pest in search of a playmate.” Tom had got a holiday. Lucy only came out of her workshop to be seized by Mr. Fountain. David, who was waiting in the garden for Lucy, begged Reginald to excuse him for once. The young gentleman had recourse as a _pis aller_ to his mamma. He invaded her bedroom, and besought her piteously to play at battledoor. That lady, sighing deeply at being taken from her dress, consented. Her soul not being in it, she played very badly. Her cub did not fail to tell her so. “Why, I can keep up a hundred with Mr. Dodd,” said he. “Oh, we all know Mr. Dodd is perfection,” said the lady with a sneer. She was piqued with David. He had gone and left her in a brutal way, to make his apologies to Lucy. “No, he is not,” said Reginald. “I have found him out. He is as unjust as the rest of them.” “Dear me! and, pray, what has he done?” “I will tell you, mamma, if you will promise not to tell papa, because he told me not to listen, and I didn't listen, mamma, because, you know, a gentleman always keeps his word; but they talked so loud the words would come into my ear; I could not keep them out. Mamma, are there any naughty ladies here?” “No, my dear.” “Then what did papa mean, warning Mr. Dodd against one?” Mrs. Bazalgette began to listen as he wished. “Oh, he called her all the names. He said she was a statue of flirtation.” “Who? Lucy?” “Lucy? no! the naughty lady--the one that had twelve husbands. He kept warning him, and warning him, and then Mr. Dodd and papa they began to quarrel almost, because Mr. Dodd said the naughty lady was quite young, and papa said she was ever so old. Mr. Dodd said she was twenty-one. But papa told him she must be more than that, because she had a child that would be fifteen years old; only it died. How old would sister Emily be if she was alive, mamma? La, mamma, how pretty you are: you have got red cheeks like Lucy--redder, oh, ever so much redder--and in general they are so pale before dinner. Let me kiss you, mamma. I do love the ladies when their cheeks are red.” “There! there! now go on, dear; tell me some more.” “It is very interesting, isn't it, dear mamma?” “It is amusing, at all events.” “No, it is not amusing--at least, what came after, isn't: it is wicked, it is unjust, it is abominable.” “Tell me, dear.” “It turned out it wasn't the naughty lady Mr. Dodd was in love for, and who do you think he is in love of?” “I have not an idea.” “MY LUCY!!!” “Nonsense, child.” “No, no, mamma, it is not. He owned it plump.” “Are you quite sure, love?” “Upon my honor.” “What did they say next?”