Mrs. H.—“You evidently don’t think much of our present style. In your day women dressed more modestly, didn’t they?”
Patience.—“Many’s the wench who pulled her points to pop. But ah, the locks were combed to satin! He who bent above might see himself reflected.”
Mrs. C.—“What were the young girls of your day like, Patience?”
Patience.—“A silly lot, as these of thine. Wait!”
There was no movement of the board for about three minutes, and then:
“’Tis a sorry lot, not harming but boresome!”
Mrs. H.—“Oh, Patience, have you been to the theater?”
Patience.—“A peep in good cause could surely ne’er harm the godly.”
Mrs. C.—“How do you think we ought to look after those men?”
Patience.—“Thine ale is drunk at the hearth. Surely he who stops to sip may bless the firelog belonging to thee.”