Rupert Ashley is deep in the graces of old
Bannockburn, who's in command. He's not a bad old sort, old Ban isn't,
though he's a bit of a martinet. Lady Ban is awful--a bounder in
petticoats. She looks like that."
Drusilla pulled down the corners of a large, mobile mouth, so as to
simulate Lady Bannockburn's expression, in a way that drew a laugh from
every one at the table but the host. Henry Guion remained serious, not
from natural gravity, but from inattention. He was obviously not in a
mood for joking, nor apparently for eating, since he had scarcely tasted
his soup and was now only playing with the fish. As this corroborated
what Mrs. Temple had more than once asserted to her husband during the
past few weeks, that "Henry Guion had something on his mind," she
endeavored to exchange a glance with him, but he was too frankly
enjoying the exercise of his daughter's mimetic gift to be otherwise
observant.
"And what does Colonel Ashley look like, Drucie?" he asked, glancing
slyly at Miss Guion.
"Like that," Mrs. Fane said, instantly. Straightening the corners of
her mouth and squaring her shoulders, she fixed her eyes into a stare of
severity, and stroked horizontally an imaginary mustache, keeping the
play up till her lips quivered.
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