“My love, all this cannot be very entertaining to Mrs. Cheerlove.”
“That is true, Alfred,” said she, with a little flutter which I could not account for. “I was to blame for forgetting Mrs. Cheerlove had no family. How have you been, ma’am, lately? Don’t you think a little sea-air would do you a great deal of good?”
I smiled, and said I did not feel any need of it.
“Oh, but it braces one so,” said she. “It would strengthen me, I know, more than all the wine and porter in the world!”
“Why should not you try to let your house?” said I. “Many people do.”
“’Pon my honour, Mrs. Cheerlove, that’s a capital thought of yours!” burst in Mr. Ringwood. “I wonder it never occurred to me. I’ll tell you what, Emma, if you can let the house for the autumn, you may go to Hardsand the very next day! Put up a ticket to-morrow.”
“Oh, thank you, Alfred!” cried she. “I’m sure I’d no idea you would have consented to such a thing, or I would have proposed it before.”
(“Don’t believe such a thought ever entered your head,” muttered he).
“I wonder, though,” she continued doubtfully, looking round the room as she spoke, “who would take such a house as this?”