“That room be Miss Bessy’s,” said the old woman.
“Yes; I know it, very well. You have the key?” said the lady.
“Yes, ma’am,” answered Dame Blanket, a little creakingly.
“Give it me,” said Mrs. Jericho.
“No, ma’am,” said Dame Blanket, straightening her back.
“Were you desired to retain that key?” asked Monica sharply.
“No, I warn’t bid to keep it; but I warn’t bid to give it,” cried the Dame, her voice rising. “And as it’s as much one as t’other, I shall do one and not t’other.”
“I call that logic in petticoats,” said Candituft.
“I call it damned impertinence,” cried Jericho—“whether in petticoats or in”—
“My dear Jericho,” said his wife, with deprecating tenderness, “don’t, love.” Then, turning round to the dame, “Woman, give me the key; I tell you, I know Miss Carraways.”