Francesca fetched the gong, and took it out into the garden and
advanced, beating it as she advanced, close up to Lady Caroline, who,
still stretched in her low chair, waited till she had done, and then
turned her head and in the sweetest tones poured forth what appeared to
be music but was really invective.
Francesca did not recognize the liquid flow as invective; how was
she to, when it came out sounding like that? And with her face all
smiles, for she could not but smile when she looked at this young lady,
she told her the maccaroni was getting cold.
"When I do not come to meals it is because I do not wish to come
to meals," said the irritated Scrap, "and you will not in future
disturb me."
"Is She ill?" asked Francesca, sympathetic but unable to stop
smiling. Never, never had she seen hair so beautiful. Like pure flax;
like the hair of northern babes. On such a little head only blessing
could rest, on such a little head the nimbus of the holiest saints
could fitly be placed.
Scrap shut her eyes and refused to answer. In this she was
injudicious, for its effect was to convince Francesca, who hurried away
full of concern to tell Mrs. Fisher, that she was indisposed. And Mrs.
Fisher, being prevented, she explained, from going out to Lady Caroline
herself because of her stick, sent the two others instead, who had come
in at that moment heated and breathless and full of excuses, while she
herself proceeded to the next course, which was a very well-made
omelette, bursting most agreeably at both its ends with young green
peas.
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