“His estate is in this shire,” said Rhoda.
“Three thousand! That’s not much. Could you have done no better? He expected you would have White-Ladies, I suppose?”
“I suppose so. I did,” said Rhoda, shortly.
“My dear, you have some bad habits,” said Mrs Latrobe, “which Phoebe should have broken you of before I came. ’Tis very rude to answer without giving a name.”
“You told me not to give you one, Aunt Anne.”
“You are slow at catching meanings, my dear,” replied Mrs Latrobe, with that calm nonchalance so provoking to an angry person. “I desired you to call me Madam, as ’tis proper you should.”
“Phoebe doesn’t,” burst from Rhoda.
“Then she ought,” answered Mrs Latrobe, coolly examining the crest on a tea-spoon.
“Oh, I will, Rhoda, if Mother wishes it,” put in Phoebe, anxious above all things to keep the peace.
Rhoda vouchsafed no reply to either.