Miss Newton laughed that musical laugh of hers.
“I should hope we are rather happier. I meant Mr Hebblethwaite—horrible name!”
“I saw him a little while ago,” said I, wondering if he were then at the foot of the back-stairs.
“What has become of the Crosslands? Have you any idea? I have not seen them here now for—ever so long.”
“Nor have I. I do not know at all,” said I, devoutly hoping that I never should see them again.
“My sister is perfectly in despair. Her intended never comes to see her now. I tell her she had better find somebody else. It is too tiresome to keep on and off with a man in that way. Oh, you don’t know anything about it. Your time has not come yet.”
“When it do,” said I, “I will either be on or off, if you please. I should not like to be on and off, by any means.”
Miss Newton hid her laughing face behind her fan.
“My dear child, you are so refreshing! Don’t change, I beg of you. It is charming to meet any one like you.”
“I thank you for your good opinion,” I replied; and, my Aunt Dorothea just then coming up, I resigned my seat to her, and dropped the conversation.