‘Ah, well! my dear, you will do as you think proper; but considering who the poor child is, I should call it no kindness to bring her forward in company.’ Something passed between the indignant Gilbert and Sophy about French counts and marquises, but Lucy managed much better. ‘Dear me, grandmamma, nobody wishes to bring her forward. She will only play with the children, and see the fireworks, and no one will speak to her.’ Albinia averted further discussion till grandmamma had left the breakfast-table, when all four appealed with one voice to Mr. Kendal, who saw no objection, whereupon Lucy ran off, while Albinia finished her arrangements for the well-being of grandmamma, Sophy, and Maurice, who were as difficult to manage as the fox, goose, and cabbage. At every turn she encountered Gilbert, touching up his toilette at each glass, and seriously consulting her and Sophy upon the choice between lilac and lemon-coloured gloves, and upon the bows of his fringed neck-tie. ‘My dear Gilbert,’ said Albinia, on the fifth anxious alternative, ‘it is of no use. No living creature will be the wiser, and do what you will, you will never look half so well as your father.’ Gilbert flung aside, muttering something about ‘fit to be seen,’ but just then Lucy hurried in. ‘Oh! mamma, she wont go--she is very much obliged, but she can’t go.’ ‘Can’t! she must,’ cried Albinia and Gilbert together. ‘She says you are very kind, but that she cannot. I said everything I could; I told her she should wear Sophy’s muslin mantle, or my second best polka.’ ‘No doubt you went and made a great favour of it,’ said Gilbert. ‘No, I assure you I did not; I persuaded her with all my might; I said mamma wished it, and we all wished it; and I am sure she would really have been very glad if she could have gone.’ ‘It can’t be the school, it is holiday time,’ said Gilbert. ‘I’ll go and see what is the matter.’ ‘No, I will go,’ said Albinia, ‘I will ask the old ladies to luncheon here, and that will make her happy, and make it easier for Sophy to get on with Sarah Anne Drury.’ Lucy had seen Genevieve alone; Albinia took her by storm before Madame Belmarche, whose little black eyes sparkled as she assured Mrs. Kendal that the child merited that and every other pleasure; and when Genevieve attempted to whisper objections, silenced her with an embrace, saying, ‘Ah! my love, where is your gratitude to Madame? Have no fears for us. Your pleasure will be ours for months to come.’ The liquid sweetness of Genevieve’s eyes spoke of no want of gratitude, and with glee which she no longer strove to repress, she tripped away to equip herself, and Albinia heard her clear young voice upstairs, singing away the burthen of some queer old French ditty.