"I believe so."
"Mrs. Cary, dear missus,—vill you look after Edit' vile I'm gone?"
"Why, yes, Peter," she said warmly, "I always see a good deal of
Edith—we're great friends, you know."
"Yes, missus, that's vone reason vy I come—Edit' t'ink no vone like you—ever vas, ever shall be. But den—I'm vorried 'bout Edit'."
"Worried? Why, Peter? She's well and strong."
"Oh, yes, she's vell—ver' vell. But Edit' love to have a good time—'vun' she say. If I go mit, she come mit me—ven not, mit some vone else."
"I see—you're jealous, Peter."
"No, no, missus, not jealous, only vorried, ver' vorried. Edit' she's young, but not baby, like Mr. and Missus Gray t'ink. I don't like Mr. Yon Veston, missus, nod ad all—and Edit' go out mit him, ev'y chance she get. An' Mr. Hugh Elliott, cousin to Miss Sally's husband, dey say he liked Miss Sally vonce—he's back here now, he looks hard at Edit' ev'y time he see her. He's that kind of man, missus, vat does look ver' hard."
Sylvia could not help being touched. "I'll do my best, Peter, but I can't promise anything. Edith is the kind of girl, as you say, that likes to have 'fun' and I have no real authority over her."
As if the object of his visit was entirely accomplished, Peter rose to leave. "I t'ank you ver' much, missus," he said politely. "It's a ver' varm evening, not? Goodnight."