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She clapped both hands over her mouth, eyes dancing and cheeks flushed, but could not muffle her hilarity. Her father frowned at her, which just made matters worse.
"Elizabeth," he began, with some foreboding, "whatever have you done…"
At that moment, a shriek of feminine outrage startled the company, who turned to see Lady Benchley's wig clutched in the tiny paw of the Countess of Prestongale's marmoset, which was capering across the drawing room floor. The incorrigible creature had somehow escaped its confinement below stairs.
Ten year old Elizabeth, banished in her turn, still thought it a very good joke.
December 18 2006, 18:22:59 UTC 5 years ago
December 19 2006, 23:47:05 UTC 5 years ago