In about half an hour more, Madam Passmore entered, looking grave and thoughtful.
"Isabella, my child," she said, "I have something to tell thee."
Isabella looked up for a moment, and then went back to her wools. "Well, Mother?" she queried, carelessly.
"My dear, I will not disguise from thee that John Rowe's visit concerneth thee. He hath asked leave of thy father and me in order to his becoming thy servant. Now, dear child, neither I nor thy father desire to control thy choice; thou shalt speak for thyself. What sayest thou? Wilt thou marry John Rowe, or not?"
"My dear mother!" responded Isabella, still busy with the wools, "he will come to the wedding in a blue coat and a lilac waistcoat and lavender small-clothes!"
"I dare say, if thou art so particular, that he will dress in what color thou wouldst," said Madam Passmore, smiling. "But what is thy mind, child? Dost thou like him?"
"I don't care anything about him, but I cannot abide his suits," returned the young lady, comparing the skeins.
"Mother isn't asking you to marry his clothes, Bell!" exclaimed Charley.
"My dear, I am not asking her to marry him," said Madam Passmore; "I only wish to know her mind about it. If thou dost not care about him, child, I suppose thou wilt wish us to refuse his addresses?"
"No, I don't say that exactly," replied Isabella, undoing one of her two skeins.