"No, madam, I will not sit down," said the chaplain, appearing under the curtain, his brown wig awry, his finger impressively pointed. "I will simply say this, namely, that as to Anne Douglas, you are all mistaken."
"And who is to be the judge between us?"
"The future, madam."
"Very well; we will leave it to the future, then," said Mrs. Bryden, skillfully evading the expected oration.
"We may safely do that, madam—safely indeed; the only difficulty is that we may not live to see it."
"Oh, a woman's future is always near at hand, doctor. Besides, we are not so very old ourselves."
"True, madam—happily true for all the eyes that rest upon you. Nevertheless, the other side, I opine, is likewise true, namely, that Anne Douglas is very young."
"She is sixteen; and I myself am only twenty," said Mrs. Rankin.
"With due respect, ladies, I must mention that not one of you was ever in her life so young as Anne Douglas at the present moment."
"What in the world do you mean, doctor?"