“If the shoe fits, put it on,” Letitia laughed. “Only, you can’t blame me for saying that of you, when you know it’s the truth.”
“Dear friend,” murmured Mrs Everett, “how can you think I’d go off and leave you while you’re in such trouble? I feel I must stand by.”
“That’s quite like you! Don’t lose a chance to gloat over any sorrow or grief I may have!”
“Do you call it sorrow and grief? I didn’t know you thought so much of the departed nobleman—he was a nobleman, wasn’t he? Tut, tut, Letitia! and at your time of life! Well, I suppose it’s habit that makes you set your cap for any man you chance to meet.”
“You always were the greatest for judging others by yourself, Adeline. You were the celebrated cap-setter of your day. Ever since you worried poor, dear Mr Everett into his untimely grave, you’ve pursued the honorable business of cap-setting, alas! to no avail.”
“Don’t you dare call my husband dear! I’ll let you know, Letitia Prall, he was not in the habit of calling you dear!”
“Tee hee,” tittered Eliza Gurney. “Don’t be jealous of Letty, Mrs Everett. She’s had more beaux than you ever saw, with all your yellow curls and red—a little too red cheeks!”
“Hush, Eliza,” admonished Miss Prall, “our caller will think we’re quarrelsome neighbors. As a matter of fact, Mr Gibbs, we’re——”
“Dearest enemies?” he suggested, smiling, for he saw he was expected to recognize the situation.
“Yes,” assented Letitia with a nod at Mrs Everett that seemed to convey all sorts of inimical intent, undiluted by friendliness.