They were seated at their late breakfast when the lackey passed the window on his return from his unsuccessful mission, and the marquis happened to see him, carrying the rejected pipes. He sent for him, and heard his report, then with a quick nod dismissed him —his way when angry, and sat silent.
“Wasn’t it spirited—in such poor people too?” said Lady Florimel, the colour rising in her face, and her eyes sparkling.
“It was damned impudent,” said the marquis.
“I think it was damned dignified,” said Lady Florimel.
The marquis stared. The visitors, after a momentary silence, burst into a great laugh.
“I wanted to see,” said Lady Florimel calmly, “whether I couldn’t swear if I tried. I don’t think it tastes nice. I shan’t take to it, I think.”
“You’d better not in my presence, my lady,” said the marquis, his eyes sparkling with fun.
“I shall certainly not do it out of your presence, my lord,” she returned. “—Now I think of it,” she went on, “I know what I will do: every time you say a bad word in my presence, I shall say it after you. I shan’t mind who’s there—parson or magistrate. Now you’ll see.”
“You will get into the habit of it.”
“Except you get out of the habit of it first, papa,” said the girl, laughing merrily.