I heard some of the answers; they were
very odd, mamma. One was, 'A storm of umbrellas and of untimely
confessions;' and another was, 'Truth in undress.'"
'Oh, my dear? I hope you were fit to be seen?'
'I forgot about that, mamma, I had taken off my ulster, and had my
little scarlet flannel underbody, so as to make a better soldier.'
'Oh!' groaned Lady Merrifield.
'And then that dear, good Fly gave a jump and flew at him, and said,
'Oh, daddy, daddy, it's Mysie, and she has been telling the truth like--
like Frank, or Sir Thomas More, or George Washington, or anybody.' She
really did say so, mamma.'
'I can quite believe it of her, Mysie! And how did Cousin Rotherwood
respond?'
'He sat down upon one of the seats, and took Fly on one knee and me on
the other, though we were big for it--just like papa, you know--and
made us tell him all about it. Lady Rotherwood got the others out of
the way somehow--I don't know how, for my back was that way, and I
think Ivinghoe went after them, but there was some use in talking to
Cousin Rotherwood; he has got some sense, and knows what one means, as
if he was at the dear, nice playing age, and Ivinghoe was his stupid
old father in a book.'
'Exactly,' said Lady Merrifield, delighted, and longing to laugh.
'But that was the worst of it,' said Mysie, sadly; 'he was so nice that
I said all sorts of things I didn't mean or ought to have said. I told
him I would pay for the glass if he would only wait till we had helped
Dolores pay for those books that the cheque was for, because the man
came alive again, after her wicked uncle said he was dead, and so
somehow it all came out; how you made up to Miss Constance and couldn't
come to the Butterfly's Ball for want of new dresses.
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