“The Lord bless thee, dear child!” was the warm greeting of Mrs Dolly; but it had been quite as warm long before.
“Evening!” said Mrs Jane, with a sarcastic grin. “Got it over, has he? Saw you through the side window. Bless you, child, I know all about it—I expected that all along. Hope you let him catch it—the jackanapes!”
“I did not let him catch me, Mrs Jane,” answered Phoebe, with some dignity.
“That’s right!” said Mrs Jane, decidedly. “That bundle of velvet and braid would never have made any way with me, when I was your age, my dear. Why, any mantua-maker could cut him out of snips, and have some stuff left over.”
“He is of very good family, my dear Mrs Jane,” observed Lady Betty; “at least, if I take you rightly in supposing you allude to Mr Welles.”
“More pity for the family!” answered Mrs Jane. “Glad I’m not his mother. Ruin me to keep, him in order. Cost a fortune in whip-leather. How’s Mrs Rhoda?”
“She is very well, I thank you, Madam.”
“Is she crying out her eyes over that piece of fiddle-faddle?”
“I think she has finished for the present,” replied Phoebe, rather drily.
“Just you tell her he’s been making up to you. Best thing you can do. Cure her sooner than anything else.”