I'm bad, Floyd's rotten, and so I dare
say's Emerson."
George corrected him: "I am not bad."
One looked down one's nose at this. "Then certainly I won't
play," said Cecil, while Miss Bartlett, under the impression that
she was snubbing George, added: "I agree with you, Mr. Vyse. You
had much better not play. Much better not."
Minnie, rushing in where Cecil feared to tread, announced that
she would play. "I shall miss every ball anyway, so what does it
matter?" But Sunday intervened and stamped heavily upon the
kindly suggestion.
"Then it will have to be Lucy," said Mrs. Honeychurch; "you must
fall back on Lucy. There is no other way out of it. Lucy, go and
change your frock."
Lucy's Sabbath was generally of this amphibious nature. She kept
it without hypocrisy in the morning, and broke it without
reluctance in the afternoon. As she changed her frock, she
wondered whether Cecil was sneering at her; really she must
overhaul herself and settle everything up before she married him.
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