"Small!" said Lady Lydiard, setting down the empty tumbler,
and referring to the quality of the beer. "But very pleasant and
refreshing. What's the servant's name? Susan? Well, Susan, I was dying
of thirst and you have saved my life. You can leave the jug--I dare say
I shall empty it before I go."
Mr. Troy, watching Miss Pink's face, saw that it was time to change the
subject again.
"Did you notice the old village, Lady Lydiard, on your way here?" he
asked. "The artists consider it one of the most picturesque places in
England."
"I noticed that it was a very dirty village," Lady Lydiard answered,
still bent on making herself disagreeable to Miss Pink. "The artists may
say what they please; I see nothing to admire in rotten cottages, and
bad drainage, and ignorant people. I suppose the neighborhood has its
advantages. It looks dull enough, to my mind."
Isabel had hitherto modestly restricted her exertions to keeping
Tommie quiet on her lap. Like Mr. Troy, she occasionally looked at her
aunt--and she now made a timid attempt to defend the neighborhood as a
duty that she owed to Miss Pink.
"Oh, my Lady! don't say it's a dull neighborhood," she pleaded. "There
are such pretty walks all round us. And, when you get to the hills, the
view is beautiful."
Lady Lydiard's answer to this was a little masterpiece of good-humored
contempt. She patted Isabel's cheek, and said, "Pooh! Pooh!"
"Your Ladyship does not admire the beauties of Nature," Miss Pink
remarked, with a compassionate smile.
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