‘You should not fancy things, Bertha.’
‘It is no fancy; every one is observing it. Augusta says she has only twice found them together in their own house since Christmas, and Mervyn says it is a warning against virulent constancy.’
‘Then you saw Mervyn?’ anxiously asked Phœbe.
‘Only twice. He is at deadly feud with the Actons, because Bevil takes Robert’s part, and has been lecturing him about the withdrawing all the subscriptions!’
‘What?’ asked Phœbe again.
‘Oh! I thought Robert told you all, but there has been such a row! I believe poor papa said something about letting Robert have an evening school for the boys and young men at the distillery, but when he claimed it, Mervyn said he knew nothing about it, and wouldn’t hear of it, and got affronted, so he withdrew all the subscriptions from the charities and everything else, and the boys have been mobbing the clergy, and Juliana says it is all Robert’s fault.’
‘And did you see Robert?’
‘Very little. No one would come to such an old fogy’s as Sir Nicholas, that could help it.’
‘Bertha, my dear, young ladies do not use such words,’ observed her mother.
‘Oh, mamma, you are quite behindhand. Slang is the thing. I see my line when I come out. It would not do for you, Phœbe—not your style—but I shall sport it when I come out and go to the Actons. I shall go out with them. Augusta is too slow, and lives with nothing but old admirals and gourmands; but I’ll always go to Juliana for the season, Phœbe, wear my hair in the Eugenie style, and be piquante.’