And when Mr Onslow, who happened to be crossing the hall, stopped and inquired in a rather timid manner if Mrs Betty’s health were improving, Molly at once favoured him with a slap on the back, and the counter query,—
“What’s that to you, you old thief?” Phoebe was horrified. If these were aristocratic manners, she preferred those of inferior quality. But noticing that Gatty’s manners were quiet and correct, Phoebe concluded that Molly must be an exceptional eccentricity. She contemplated the prospect of a month in that young lady’s company with unmitigated repugnance.
“Well, Mrs Molly, my dear,—as smart as ever!” remarked Madam, turning to Molly with a smile. “All right, old witch!” said Molly. And to Phoebe’s astonishment, Madam smiled on, and did not resent the impertinence.
“Well!—how do you like Gatty and Molly?” said Rhoda to Phoebe, when they were safe in their own room.
“Pretty well, Mrs Gatty,” replied Phoebe, leaving the question of Molly undecided.
“Don’t you like Molly?” demanded Rhoda, laughing. “Ah! I see. She’s rather too clever to please you.”
“I ask your pardon, but I don’t see any cleverness in downright rudeness,” timidly suggested Phoebe.
“Oh, nobody cares what Molly says,” answered Rhoda. “They put up with all that,—she’s so smart. You see, she’s very, very ingenious, and everybody thinks so, and she knows people think so. She’s a rep., you see, and she has to keep it up.”
“I ask your pardon,” said Phoebe again; “a what, if you please?”
“A rep., child,” answered Rhoda, in her patronising style. “A reputation,—a character for smartness, you know. Don’t you see?”