“Oh, if it is Lucy. Well, good-by, ladies. I am obliged to go to London at a moment's notice for a couple of days. You will have done by when I come back, perhaps,” and off went Bazalgette whistling, but not best pleased. He had told his wife more than once that the drawing-rooms and dining-rooms of a house are the public rooms, and the bedrooms the private ones. Lucy colored with mortification. It was death to her to annoy anyone; so her aunt had thrust her into a cruel position. “Poor Mr. Bazalgette!” sighed she. “Fiddle de dee. Let him go, and come back in a better temper--set transparent; so then, backed by the violet, you know, they will imitate dewdrops to the life.” “Charming! Why not let Olivier do it for you, as poor Baldwin cannot?” “Because Olivier works for the Claytons, and we should have that Emily Clayton out as my double; and as we visit the same houses--” “And as she is extremely pretty--aunt, what a generalissima you are!” “Pretty! Snub-nosed little toad. No, she is not pretty. But she is eighteen; so I can't afford to dress her. No. I see I shall have to moderate my views for this gown, and buy another dress for the flowers and diamonds. There, take it off, and let us think it calmly over. I never act in a hurry but I am sorry for it afterward--I mean in things of real importance.” The gown was taken off in silence, broken only by occasional sighs from the sufferer, in whose heart a dozen projects battled fiercely for the mastery, and worried and sore perplexed her, and rent her inmost soul fiercely divers ways. “Black lace, dear,” suggested Lucy, soothingly. Mrs. B. curled her arm lovingly round Lucy's waist. “Just what I was beginning to think,” said she, warmly. “And we can't both be mistaken, can we? But where can I get enough?” and her countenance, that the cheering coincidence had rendered seraphic, was once more clouded with doubt. “Why, you have yards of it.” “Yes, but mine is all made up in some form or other, and it musses one's things so to pick them to pieces.” “So it does, dear,” replied Lucy, with gentle but genuine feeling. “It would only be for one night, Lucy--I should not hurt it, love--you would not like to fetch down your Brussels point scarf, and see how it would look, would you? We need not cut the lace, dear; we could tack it on again the next morning; you are not so particular as I am--you look well in anything.” Lucy was soon seated denuding herself and embellishing her aunt. The latter reclined with grace, and furthered the work by smile and gesture. “You don't ask me about the skirmish in the nursery.” “Their squabbles bore me, dear; but you can tell me who was the most in fault, if you think it worth while.” “Reginald, then, I am afraid; but it is not the poor boy; it is the influence of the stable-yard; and I do advise and entreat you to keep him out of it.”