"Bees," she echoes blankly--"only bees! I do call that a 'sell,' and no mistake! Going to ride nine miles to see a lot of stupid old bees! Oh, won't the others be just mad! And Polly and I after stuffing our saddles with sugar and nuts and eau-de-Cologne--oh, dear!"
"I sympathize with you, my dear; and I think Robert might have remembered enough of his Latin to know that _apis_ means 'bee.'"
"Such a long uninteresting ride too along the quarry road!" she grumbles. "I--I suppose you wouldn't be tempted to join our festive party, would you?"
"Unfortunately I have to return to Kelvick. I'm engaged to dine with Challice the banker."
"Oh, I see! I suppose you'll have a very pleasant evening?"
"I hope so. By the bye, I think I'll remain at the factory all night. They generally keep it up rather late at the bank-house. Challice is an indefatigable whist-player."
"I--I suppose now she'd know that an apiary wasn't an ape-house?"
"I never had occasion to sound her knowledge in the matter; but I should say she would."
Addie draws a quick resentful breath, leans over her husband as he is placidly stamping his letters, and whispers in his ear:
"What a pity you didn't marry her, Tom, instead of me!"
With this parting shot she flies from the room.
"Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong and Miss Lefroy. Lady Portrann at home Tuesday, the 16th of January, 10 P.M. Dancing."
"Addie, that means a ball, doesn't it? How delightful! You're going, of course?"
"And you'll wear your white _broché_ and pearls. Oh, isn't it well for you?" groans Pauline wistfully. "Miss Lefroy--that's me, of course. It was nice of them to ask me, wasn't it, Addie?"
"Yes. I suppose they did not know you were still in the school-room, Polly."
"I'm past seventeen, and eldest daughter now that you're married and done for, Addie, and I do think it's hard lines keeping me down."
"If Mr. Armstrong wishes to give you the advantage of education, no matter how late, I think you ought to be extremely grateful to him, instead of grumbling as you continually do," says Mrs. Armstrong severely.
"You're so remarkably well educated yourself, Addie," retorts Pauline, "you can well afford to preach. Didn't you see how Tom stared the other night when you asked him which would take longest, to go to New York or Calcutta? I'm sure, if he keeps me in the school-room, he ought to keep you too. 'Lady Portrann at home, 10 P.M. Dancing.' How lovely it sounds! How I wish I could go, just to see what it would be like! I wouldn't dance, you know, Addie, or wear a silk dress, or anything in that way, but just sit in a corner and look on quietly; and--and don't you think, if you put it to your husband mildly like, that he might--might--"