"Oh, no doubt," said Mrs. Harding, faintly. "Live and learn, you know." But she gave up Barbara Churchill from that time out. She, who had known the price of every article of domestic consumption since she was fourteen years old, and had fought innumerable hand-to-hand combats with extortionate tradesmen, looked upon this insouciance of Barbara's as any thing but a venial crime. A few other topics were started, feebly entered into, and dropped; and then Mrs. Harding took her leave, with faintly-expressed hopes of seeing her new-made acquaintance soon again.
That afternoon George Harding, returning home to dinner, was told by his wife that she had called on Mrs. Churchill.
"Ay!" said the honest old boy; "and what did you make of her, Sophy? I'd trust your judgment in a thousand; and Frank has a high opinion of it, I know. Is she pretty, and clever, and managing, and all the rest of it?"
"Well, as to prettiness, George, she's not one of my style of beauties," said Mrs. Harding. "She's a tall slip of a woman, with straight features, such as you see on the old coins; and she's very stand-offish in her manners; and, as to managing--well, she's too fine a lady to know her tradespeople's names, or what she pays them."
George Harding whistled softly, and then plunged into his hashed mutton. He made but one remark, but that he repeated twice. "I told him to beware of swells. God knows I warned him. I told him to beware of swells."
That same night Mrs. Churchill told her husband of the visit she had had.
"I'm so glad!" said Frank. "I knew old George would send his wife first. Well, what do you think of Mrs. Harding, Barbara?"
"Oh, I've no doubt she meant every thing kindly, Frank," said Barbara, "She's--she's a right-meaning kind of woman, Frank, no doubt; but she's--she's not my style, you know."
Frank was dashed. "I don't exactly understand, dear. She was perfectly friendly?"
"Oh, perfectly! But she asked me all sorts of curious questions about the tradespeople, and the housekeeping, and that. So strange, you know."