Marguerite, with dainty affection, had kissed her hand to the
ladies, as they disappeared through the door, then a humorous smile
began hovering round the corners of her mouth.
"So that's it, is it?" she said gaily. "La! Sir Andrew, did
you ever see such an unpleasant person? I hope when I grow old I
sha'n't look like that."
She gathered up her skirts and assuming a majestic gait,
stalked towards the fireplace.
"Suzanne," she said, mimicking the Comtesse's voice, "I forbid
you to speak to that woman!"
The laugh which accompanied this sally sounded perhaps a
trifled forced and hard, but neither Sir Andrew nor Lord Tony were
very keen observers. The mimicry was so perfect, the tone of the
voice so accurately reproduced, that both the young men joined in a
hearty cheerful "Bravo!"
"Ah! Lady Blakeney!" added Lord Tony, "how they must miss you
at the Comedie Francaise, and how the Parisians must hate Sir Percy
for having taken you away."
"Lud, man," rejoined Marguerite, with a shrug of her graceful
shoulders, "`tis impossible to hate Sir Percy for anything; his witty
sallies would disarm even Madame la Comtesse herself.
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