mising laugh,—a laugh which her sister-in-law knew of old, and regarded as a peculiarly dangerous form of criticism.
"I don't see why she should be sacrificed. She would have a lovely time if she were to come on. She would consider it the greatest kindness to be asked."
"To be asked to come and amuse Florimond?"
Mrs. Daintry hesitated a moment. "I don't see why she should object to that. Florimond is certainly not beneath a person's notice. Why, Lucretia, you speak as if there were something disagreeable about Florimond."
"My dear Susan," said Miss Daintry, "I am willing to believe that he is the first young man of his time; but, all the same, it is n't a thing to do."
"Well, I have thought of it in every possible way, and I haven't seen any harm in it. It isn't as if she were giving up anything to come."
"You have thought of it too much, perhaps. Stop thinking for a while. I should have imagined you were more scrupulous."
Mrs. Daintry was silent a moment; she took her sister-in-law's asperity very meekly, for she felt that if she had been wrong in what she proposed, she deserved a severe judgment. But why was she wrong? She clasped her hands in her lap and rested her eyes with extreme seriousness upon Lucretia's little pincenez, inviting her to judge her, and too much interested in having the question of her culpability
