Mrs. Severn laughed. Immediately Mr. Dennis Montague began to cackle, and went into a veritable spasm of laughter which drowned all other sounds for the nonce. The parrot was a jealous bird. He cared only to hear his own voice. Again he was quenched (for the moment) by a cushion and the undignified command to “shut up!”
Beth saw that Mrs. Severn’s hands and fingers were swollen with the gout, too—called by more plebian patients, “rheumatism.” Beth wondered if she was ever able to get the several costly rings which were imbedded in the flesh off those swollen fingers. Mrs. Severn wore, too, an old-fashioned “sunburst” of considerable value.
“Now, don’t go,” said the lady, when Beth rose, considering the bargain completed. “You begin your work here to-day.”
“But really, Mrs. Severn, I have nothing with me to work with. And I do not suppose you have the proper thread?”
“Never mind that!” exclaimed the lady. “You can talk without a needle and thread in your fingers?”
Beth laughed. “Oh yes. But three dollars for just talking would be rather an overcharge, wouldn’t it? And I cannot afford to give my time.”
“You are not supposed to,” said Mrs. Severn. “I admire you for knowing your own mind and sticking to it. I shall pay for your time this afternoon just the same if you do not work. Tell me, Miss Baldwin, why do you have to do this sort of thing? For I suppose you have to. No person of your age would rather work than play.”
“Oh no,” said Beth, hesitating to take the lady into her complete confidence on such brief acquaintance. “I do not do it from choice.”
“Until Mrs. Pepper told me, I had no idea that one of the girls at Rivercliff ever did anything useful.”
“Oh, Mrs. Severn! that is hard. We are all learning.”