“Well, they have their health,” said Mrs Stroud. “But there, Charlotte, young people are always an anxiety, and them girls do want a mother’s eye.”
“No doubt they do, poor things. Why, the eldest must be quite a young woman.”
“I don’t know that there’s much to be said against Martha Jane,” said Mrs Stroud. “She’s a good girl enough in her way, though too much set on her book, and keeps herself to herself too much, to my thinking. If that girl ever settles in life, she’ll take the crooked stick at last, mark my word for it.”
“Has she any prospects?” asked Mrs Warren.
“She might,” said Mrs Stroud with emphasis. “Undertaking is an excellent trade, and she sees young Mr Clements frequent at funerals—or might if she looked his way, as I’m certain sure he looks hers.”
“Well, girls will have their feelings,” said Mrs Warren. “And isn’t the next one growing up too?”
“Ah,” said Mrs Stroud, with a profound sigh.
“There’s worse faults than being too backward after all, and that there Florence is indeed a trial. I tell my brother that good service is the only chance for her, and that I should consult you about it.”
“I thought she was in a shop.”
“She were. But she’ve thrown up an excellent chance.”