Vizard heard their voices
going like mill-clacks at this sacred hour, and summoned them rather
roughly, as stated above. His back was to Zoe, and she rubbed her hands
gayly to Severne, and sent him a flying whisper: "Oh, what fun! We are
the culprits, and they are the ones scolded."
Dinner waited ten minutes, and then the defaulters appeared. Nothing was
said, but Vizard looked rather glum; and Aunt Maitland cast a vicious
look at Severne and Zoe: they had made a forced march, and outflanked
her. She sat down, and bided her time, like a fowler waiting till the
ducks come within shot.
But the conversation was commonplace, inconsecutive, shifty, and vague,
and it was two hours before anything came within shot: all this time not
a soul suspected the ambushed fowler.
At last, Vizard, having thrown out one of his hints that the fair sex are
imperfect, Fanny, being under the influence of Miss Maitland's
revelations, ventured to suggest that they had no more faults than men,
and _certainly_ were not more deceitful.
"Indeed?" said Vizard. "Not--more--_deceitful!_ Do you speak from
experience?"
"Oh, no, no," said Fanny, getting rather frightened.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149