“Well, whoever is to blame—and I suppose Braelands should have been more patient with the troubles he called to himself—I shall have to put on ‘blacks’ in consequence. It is a great expense, and a very useless one; but people will talk if I do not go into mourning for my son’s wife.”
“I wouldn’t do it, if I was you.”
“Society obliges. You must make me two gowns at least.”
“I will not sew a single stitch for you.”
“Not sew for me?”
“Never again; not if you paid me a guinea a stitch.”
“What do you mean? Are you in your senses?”
“Just as much as poor Sophy was. And I’ll never forgive myself for listening to your lies about my niece. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Your cruelties to her are the talk of the whole country-side.”
“How dare you call me a liar?”
“When I think of wee Sophy in her coffin, I could call you something far worse.”