"I have been the belle of several balls in my time," said Miss Wharf good-humouredly.
"And will be still," purred Miss Pewsey like the cat she was, "my dear nephew, said you were a rattling fine woman."
"It sounds like one of Mr. Burgh's speeches," said Olivia with great contempt. She knew that the buccaneer loved her, and therefore disliked him the more.
"Oh Olivia how can you," cried the little old maid, throwing up her hands, "when poor, dear, darling, Clarence worships the ground you walk on. He's got money too, and wants a wife!"
"Let him marry Lotty Dean then."
"That retired grocer's daughter," cried Miss Pewsey, drawing herself up, "no indeed. I may be poor, but I am of gentle blood Olivia. The Pewsey's have been in Essex for generations. My papa was rich and could afford to send me to a fashionable school when I met my own Sophia. But poor sweet papa lost his money and then--oh dear me." Miss Pewsey squeezed out a tear. "What sad times I have had."
"You're all right now, Lavinia," said Miss Wharf stolidly, eating fruit and sipping port wine.
"Yes dearest Sophia, thanks to your large and generous heart. I have no one in the world but you and Clarence. He is the son of my only sister, and has travelled--"
"In China," said Olivia.
Miss Pewsey narrowed her eyes and looked as though about to scratch.