“Pleasant as a companion?” pursued Madam.
“People generally think so, I believe,” answered Gatty, with studied vagueness.
“You dear old concatenation, you’ll get nothing out of my wretch of a sister,” impetuously cried Molly.
“I’ll tell you all about Marcus. He’s the brightest eyes that ever shone, and the sweetest voice that praised your fine eyes, and the most delightful manners! White hands, and a capital leg, and never treads on your corns. Oh, there’s nobody like him. I mean to marry him.”
“Molly!” said Gatty. It was the first time she had offered anything like a reproof to her sister.
“Now, you hold your tongue, Mrs Prude!” responded Molly. “You’re not a bit better than I am.”
Gatty made no reply.
“Don’t you set up to be either a prig or a saint!” continued Molly, angrily. “Betty’s enough. She isn’t a saint; but she’s a prig. If ever you’re either, I’ll lead you a life!”
And there could be little doubt of Molly’s fulfilling her threat.
The next day, Gatty and Molly Delawarr went home. Betty had quite recovered, and was gone to stay with a friend near Bristol; the house had been thoroughly disinfected, and was pronounced free from all danger; and Lady Delawarr thought there was no longer need for the girls to remain away.