“He’s come down to marry your mother,” said Wiggins.
“What?” cried the Twins with one voice, one look of blank consternation; and they stopped short.
“How dare you say a silly thing like that?” cried Erebus fiercely.
“I didn’t say it,” protested Wiggins. “Mrs. Blenkinsop said it.”
“That silly old gossip!” cried Erebus.
“And Mrs. Morton said it, too,” said Wiggins. “They came to tea yesterday and talked about it. I was there: there was a plum cake—one of those rich ones from Springer’s at Rowington. And they said it would be such a good thing for both of you because he’s so awfully rich: the Terror would go to Eton; and you’d go to a good school and get a proper bringing-up and grow up a lady, after all—”
“I wouldn’t go! I should hate it!” cried Erebus.
“Yes; they said you wouldn’t like wholesome discipline,” said the faithful reporter. “And they didn’t seem to think your mother would like it either—marrying the Cruncher.”
“Like it? She wouldn’t dream of it—a bounder like that!” said the Terror.
“I don’t know—I don’t know—if she thought it would be good for us—she’d do anything for us—you know she would!” cried Erebus, wringing her hands in anxious fear.