“This is his wife, of course,” said Miss Tox, singling out the young woman with the baby. “How do you do, Polly?”
“I’m pretty well, I thank you, Ma’am,” said Polly.
By way of bringing her out dexterously, Miss Tox had made the inquiry as in condescension to an old acquaintance whom she hadn’t seen for a fortnight or so.
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Miss Tox. “The other young woman is her unmarried sister who lives with them, and would take care of her children. Her name’s Jemima. How do you do, Jemima?”
“I’m pretty well, I thank you, Ma’am,” returned Jemima.
“I’m very glad indeed to hear it,” said Miss Tox. “I hope you’ll keep so. Five children. Youngest six weeks. The fine little boy with the blister on his nose is the eldest. The blister, I believe,” said Miss Tox, looking round upon the family, “is not constitutional, but accidental?”
The apple-faced man was understood to growl, “Flat iron.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir,” said Miss Tox, “did you—”
“Flat iron,” he repeated.
“Oh yes,” said Miss Tox. “Yes! quite true. I forgot. The little creature, in his mother’s absence, smelt a warm flat iron. You’re quite right, Sir. You were going to have the goodness to inform me, when we arrived at the door that you were by trade a—”