“Is he?” asked Cecilia, in an interested tone. “Surely she will not marry a man with such a name as that?”
“Well, if you wish to have my private opinion about it,” said Hatty, in her coolest, that is to say, her most provoking manner, “I rather—think—she—will.”
“I wouldn’t do such a thing!” disdainfully cried Cecilia.
“Nobody asked you, my dear,” was Hatty’s answer. “I hope you would not, unless you are prepared to provide another admirer for Fanny. They are scarce in these parts.”
“I cannot think how you can live up here in these uncivilised regions!” cried Cecilia. “The country people are all just like bears—”
“Do they hug you so very hard?” said Hatty.
“They are so rough and unpolished,” continued Cecilia, “so—so—really, I could not bear to live in Cumberland or any of these northern counties. It is just horrid!”
“Then hadn’t you better go back again?” said Hatty, coolly.
“I am sure I shall be thankful when the time comes,” answered Cecilia, rather sharply. “Except you in this family, I do think—”
“Oh, pray don’t except us!” laughed Hatty, turning round the next minute to speak to Ephraim Hebblethwaite. “Mr Ephraim Hebblethwaite, this is Miss Cecilia Osborne, a young lady from the South Pole or somewhere on the way, who does not admire us Cumbrians in the smallest degree, and will be absolutely delighted to turn her back upon the last of us.”