“Oh, very well. If you choose to make a joke of his name in that way, I have done.”
“Why, God bless the girl! what does she want me to say? And as for joking, surely that is innocent enough. You’re as tender about the doctor as though he were a girl of seventeen.”
“It’s not about him; but it’s such a shame to laugh at poor dear Lady Scatcherd. If she were to hear it she’d lose all comfort in having my uncle near her.”
“And I’m to marry him, so that she may be safe with her friend!”
“Very well; I have done.” And Mrs. Gresham, who had already got up from her seat, employed herself very sedulously in arranging flowers which had been brought in for the drawing-room tables. Thus they remained silent for a minute or two, during which she began to reflect that, after all, it might probably be thought that she also was endeavouring to catch the great heiress for her uncle.
“And now you are angry with me,” said Miss Dunstable.
“No, I am not.”
“Oh, but you are. Do you think I’m such a fool as not to see when a person’s vexed? You wouldn’t have twitched that geranium’s head off if you’d been in a proper frame of mind.”
“I don’t like that joke about Lady Scatcherd.”
“And is that all, Mary? Now do try and be true, if you can. You remember the bishop? Magna est veritas.”