"I have grave doubts about that, Mitchell, and at least you should not answer me in this wise."
"If I brought my young lady safely all the way from Jerusalem, miss, I suppose I can take care of her 'ere."
"Her ear?" questions Miss Priscilla, not meaning to be rude at all.
"She means here," says Miss Penelope, in a stage whisper.
"Oh!" says Miss Priscilla, rather shocked at her mistake, which has been accepted by Mitchell as a [deliberate] insult. "Katherine, go upstairs with Mitchell, and change your shoes and stockings; they must be damp."
"I don't consider Mitchell at all a nice person," says Miss Priscilla, when the door had closed upon that veteran; "but still I hope I did not offend her with that last thoughtless slip of mine. But really, over here in Ireland, we are not accustomed to the extraordinary language in which Mitchell indulges at times. She seems to me to be saving up her aspirates for a hypothetical dearth of that article in the future."
Miss Priscilla is so pleased with this long word that she quite recovers her temper.
"Certainly, from Jerusalem is a long way to bring a child," says Miss Penelope, thoughtfully; and, indeed, this journey from Palestine has been, and probably always will be, Mrs. Mitchell's trump card when disputing with the mistresses of Moyne.
Miss Priscilla has walked to the window, and is now gazing in thoughtful fashion over the fast darkening landscape. Perhaps her mind is travelling that long journey to Palestine, perhaps it is still occupied with the inimical Mitchell; be that as it may, she keeps her senses well about her, and a keen eye behind her spectacles, because presently she says aloud, in a tone calculated to attract attention,—
"What is that in the meadow, creeping along beneath the ha-ha, Katherine?"—Kit has returned with dry shoes and stockings;—"come here, your eyes are sharper than mine!" which is a distinct libel upon her own orbs.