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Updated: May 6, 2025
And thus they proceeded, the Colonel radiant with every successful stroke, and blaming mallet, ball, and ground when otherwise, reiterating, "I can't make a stroke to-day." Bluebell was very fond of the Colonel, who liked pretty faces about him, and had been kind to her; but she could not resist a slight feeling of repulsion at what she considered an abject maneuver of Miss Prosody's.
Rolleston having some doubts as how the amateur and professional governess might amalgamate, avoided letting her entrench on Miss Prosody's premises. That lady, indeed, was disposed to look upon her with suspicion and incipient dislike. She had always been treated with great consideration quite one of the family, and cared not for "a rival near her throne."
I remember the conversation first fell upon a certain general history of the Prowley family that its present masculine representative had in preparation. "By the way," said Deacon Reyner, addressing the future historian on this head, "I have secured a correct copy of poor Prosody's epitaph, as you asked me the other day."
"We must signal for the Infantry, though, who are also the Commissariat." Bluebell tied a silk handkerchief to her oar, and waved it wildly. "I wonder if that old nuisance enjoys herself," speculated Miss Tremaine, as Miss Prosody's prim visage appeared in the stern of the other boat. "So like you English, always carrying your propriety about in the shape of a foil."
"I suppose this is all very sylvan and jolly," said Lilla, handing the remnants of the refection to the boatman; "yet somehow, candidly, it's slow." "Possibly," said Cecil, "it is the absence of the other sex that makes you find it so?" "Perhaps," said Lilla, frankly, with furtive enjoyment of Miss Prosody's stiffening face. "Well, ladies, I should like my little smoke; can I offer anybody one?
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