"Bless you, child, it's in curl-papers now, as I am of a morning.
Mr. Sharp, here's an Amazon for you."
As she spoke, Lucy hurried across the stage, followed by Christie,
wearing any thing but an Amazonian expression just then.
"Ever on before?" abruptly asked, a keen-faced, little man, glancing
with an experienced eye at the young person who stood before him
bathed in blushes.
"No, sir."
"Do you sing?"
"A little, sir."
"Dance, of course?"
"Yes, sir."
"Just take a turn across the stage, will you? Must walk well to lead
a march."
As she went, Christie heard Mr. Sharp taking notes audibly:
"Good tread; capital figure; fine eye. She'll make up well, and
behave herself, I fancy."
A strong desire to make off seized the girl; but, remembering that
she had presented herself for inspection, she controlled the
impulse, and returned to him with no demonstration of displeasure,
but a little more fire in "the fine eye," and a more erect carriage
of the "capital figure."
"All right, my dear. Give your name to Mr. Tripp, and your mind to
the business, and consider yourself engaged,"--with which
satisfactory remark the little man vanished like a ghost.
"Lucy, did you hear that impertinent 'my dear'?" asked Christie,
whose sense of propriety had received its first shock.
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