"Oh, I don't think he will!" murmured Maryllia graciously; "He will be writing poetry all the time, you see! Besides, with you and Sir Morton as neighbours, how CAN he feel dull? Won't you have some more tea?"
"No, thank you!" and Miss Pippitt rose,--"Father, we must be going. You have not yet explained to Miss Vancourt the object of our visit."
"True, true!" and Sir Morton got out of his chair with some difficulty--"Time flies fast in such fascinating company!" and he smiled beamingly--"We came, my dear lady, to ask you to dine with us on Thursday next at Badsworth Hall." No words could convey the pomposity which Sir Morton managed to infuse into this simple sentence. To dine at Badsworth was, or ought to be, according to his idea, the utmost height of human bliss and ambition. "We will invite some of our most distinguished neighbours to meet you,--there are a few of the old stock left--" this as if he were of the 'old stock' himself;--"I knew your father--poor fellow!--and of course I remember seeing you as a child, though you don't remember me--ha- ha!--but I shall be delighted to welcome you under my roof--"
"Thanks so much!" said Maryllia, demurely--"But please let it be for another time, will you? I haven't a single evening disengaged between this and the end of June! So sorry! I'll come over to tea some day, with pleasure! I know Badsworth. Dear old place!--quite famous too, once in the bygone days--almost as famous as Abbot's Manor itself. Let me see!" and she looked up at the ceiling musingly--"There was a Badsworth who fought against the Commonwealth,--and there was another who was Prime Minister or something of that kind,--then there was a Sir Thomas Badsworth who wrote books--and another who did some wonderful service for King James the First--yes, and there were some lovely women in the family, too--I suppose their portraits are all there? Yes--I thought so!"--this as Sir Morton nodded a blandly possessive affirmative-- "How things change, don't they? Poor old Badsworth! So funny to think you live there! Oh, yes! I'll come over--certainly I'll come over,--some day!"
Thus murmuring polite platitudes, Maryllia bade her visitors adieu. Sir Morton conquered an inclination to gasp for breath and say 'Damn!' at the young lady's careless refusal of his invitation to dinner,--Miss Tabitha secretly rejoiced.
"I'm sure I don't want her at Badsworth," she said within herself, viciously--"Nasty little insolent conceited thing! I believe her hair is dyed, and her complexion put on! A regular play-actress!"