“To know what I thought of Mr Edmundson.”
“What fun! Well, what did you?”
“Why, I hoped his sermons would be better than himself: and they weren’t.”
“Did you tell Madam that?” inquired Rhoda, convulsed with laughter.
“No, not exactly that; I said—”
“O Fib, I wish you had! She thinks it tip-top impertinence in any woman to presume to have an opinion about a sermon. My word! wouldn’t you have caught it!”
“Well, I simply told her the truth,” replied Phoebe; “that I didn’t like him, and I didn’t think he liked me.”
Rhoda went off into another convulsion.
“O Fib, you are good—nobody better! What did she say to that?”
“She said his not fancying me wouldn’t signify. But I think it would signify a good deal to me, if I had to be his wife.”