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Miss Pink’s eyes dropped modestly to the ground —“fat” was such a coarse word to use, if a lady must speak of her own superfluous flesh! “May I offer some refreshment?” Miss Pink asked, mincingly. “A cup of tea?”

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Lady Lydiard shook her head.

“A glass of water?”

Lady Lydiard declined this last hospitable proposal with an exclamation of disgust. “Have you got any beer?” she inquired.

“I beg your Ladyship’s pardon,” said Miss Pink, doubting the evidence of her own ears. “Did you say — beer?”

Lady Lydiard gesticulated vehemently with her fan. “Yes, to be sure! Beer! beer!”

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Miss Pink rose, with a countenance expressive of genteel disgust, and rang the bell. “I think you have beer downstairs, Susan?” she said, when the maid appeared at the door.

“Yes, miss.”

“A glass of beer for Lady Lydiard,” said Miss Pink — under protest.

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“Bring it in a jug,” shouted her Ladyship, as the maid left the room. “I like to froth it up for myself,” she continued, addressing Miss Pink. “Isabel sometimes does it for me, when she is at home — don’t you, my dear?”

Miss Pink had been waiting her opportunity to assert her own claim to the possession of her own niece, from the time when Lady Lydiard had coolly declared her intention of taking Isabel back with her. The opportunity now presented itself.

“Your Ladyship will pardon me,” she said, “if I remark that my niece’s home is under my humble roof. I am properly sensible, I hope, of your kindness to Isabel, but while she remains the object of a disgraceful suspicion she remains with me.”

Lady Lydiard closed her fan with an angry snap.

“You are completely mistaken, Miss Pink. You may not mean it — but you speak most unjustly if you say that your niece is an object of suspicion to me, or to anybody in my house.”