Mrs. L. Especially your particular friend, Fred Hastings; hey, Lucy?
Lucy. Oh! of course. You know he is very agreeable, Aunt Loring, and has been very kind to us.
Mrs. L. He is no favorite of mine. He has been very agreeable, especially to you; while to your brother Harry he has been altogether too kind.
Lucy. Why, Aunt Loring! Harry thinks there never was such a friend.
Mrs. L. Harry is young; he has seen little of the world: and the gay, dashing style of Fred Hastings has won his admiration. But Master Fred Hastings has already led him into mischief. Their pranks in the village have reached my ears, and, I fear, those of your father. Fred Hastings is not a fit companion for our Harry; and it will be a relief to me when he quits this place never to return.
Lucy. Don’t talk so, Aunt Loring. You are mistaken in him.
Mrs. L. I hope I am. But, during the ten years I have been housekeeper for your father, I have seen a great many young men, and learned to read their characters; and I say that Master Fred Hasting has too much money, too much assurance, and too much love for what is called sport, ever to make a good man.
Lucy. I do hope you are mistaken. I’m sure you must be.
Mrs. L. Well, well, child, we shall see.
Butts. (Outside, C.) Don’t tell me. How do you know? None of your lying. I’ll find out for myself. (Enter Butts, C.) How do you do, marm? Hope you’re well, Miss Lucy. Where’s the doctor?