“A very convenient transaction for the Churchills,” said Mrs. Layton, with a sneer. “She is a person with no idea of her own position in life, I consider. Would you believe it, I went the other day to the farm for the purpose of buying some eggs, and when I asked Margaret Churchill the price, she looked quite offended, and said she did not sell eggs! Fancy a farmer’s daughter not selling eggs! However, she presented me with a few, and I took them.”
“A very convenient transaction for you, Mrs. Layton,” scoffed John, who was getting out of temper, and an angry gleam shot into Mrs. Layton’s light eyes as he spoke.
“I always do what I consider my duty, Mr. Temple,” she said, drawing up her spare little form. “My husband is fond of fresh-laid eggs, and as this misguided young person would not sell them, I had to consider him.”
John made a sarcastic little bow.
“Wifely duty!” he said; and Mrs. Layton always spoke of him after this passage of arms with great bitterness.
“He is a dangerous person,” she remarked later in the day to her daughter. “Mark my words, Rachel, a dangerous, designing person, and I believe he is carrying on, or will carry on, an intrigue with Margaret Churchill, and how would you like that?”
“I hate the whole lot of the Churchills!” answered Mrs. Temple, passionately. “But his uncle will never allow him to carry on an intrigue with this girl.”
“My dear Rachel, you forget that your husband is elderly, and that this young man is his heir,” said Mrs. Layton. “I do not like to speak on unpleasant subjects, but I think it my duty to tell you this, that when at my earnest suggestion your father spoke to the squire about settling the Hall, furniture, and carriages on you for life, after poor little Phillip’s death, that the squire said he had no power to settle the Hall; that it was entailed on the heir.”
“Oh! don’t, don’t, mother!” cried Mrs. Temple, rising in strong excitement, and beginning to pace the room. “I try to forget my darling’s death; try to put it out of my mind, or I think I should go mad, and now you begin to harp on it again. Let everything go; what matter is it when I have lost him!”
“My dear Rachel—”