‘Dear me! why will people take so much pains to find out evil about others? I have had a note from the Countess since you went, asking us to dine with them on Friday.’
Here Mrs. Barton reached the note from the mantelpiece, and gave it to her husband. We will look over his shoulder while he reads it:—
‘Sweetest Milly,—Bring your lovely face with your husband to dine with us on Friday at seven—do. If not, I will be sulky with you till Sunday, when I shall be obliged to see you, and shall long to kiss you that very moment. Yours, according to your answer,
‘Caroline Czerlaski.
‘Just like her, isn’t it?’ said Mrs. Barton. ‘I suppose we can go?’
‘Yes; I have no engagement. The Clerical Meeting is to-morrow, you know.’
‘And, dear, Woods the butcher called, to say he must have some money next week. He has a payment to make up.’
This announcement made Mr. Barton thoughtful. He puffed more rapidly, and looked at the fire.
‘I think I must ask Hackit to lend me twenty pounds, for it is nearly two months till Lady-day, and we can’t give Woods our last shilling.’
‘I hardly like you to ask Mr. Hackit, dear—he and Mrs. Hackit have been so very kind to us; they have sent us so many things lately.’