"Hill," corrected Miss Strode; then added colouring: "His son doesn't take after him."
"No," admitted the other grudgingly, "I will say as Mr. Allen is a tight lad. His mother gave him her blood and sense and looks; not that I say he's worthy of you, Miss Eva."
"Mrs. Merry," said Eva quietly, "you let your tongue run on too freely about my friends."
"Not the father Hills, if I die in saying it. He's no friend of yours, seeing he's your pa's; and as to Mr. Allen, I never had a sweetheart as I called friend, when you could call him something better."
Eva took no notice of this speech, but continued, "You are my old nurse, Mrs. Merry, and I allow you to talk openly."
"For your good, Miss Eva," put in Merry.
"For my good, I know," said the girl; "but you must not run down Allen's father or mine."
"As to his father, I say nothing but that he's a drivelling jelly-fish," said Mrs. Merry, who would not be suppressed; "but your own pa I know, worse luck, and I don't think much of him as a man, whatever I say about his being Beelzebub, which he is. Fifty years and more he is, fine-looking at that, though wickedness is in his aching bones. Not that I know of their aching," explained Mrs. Merry, "but if sin would make 'em smart, ache they do. You've been happy with me, Miss Eva, dear, in spite of a humble roof and your poor ma's death, four and a half year back. But your pa's come home to make trouble. Satan let loose is what I call him, and if I could stop his coming by twisting his wicked neck, I would."
"Mrs. Merry!" Eva rose quickly and flushed. "You forget yourself."
"There," said Mrs. Merry, casting up her eyes; "and I fed her with my own milk."