Ever since the visit of condolence with which the narrative of these events opened, there had been a coolness between Mrs Mellis and Miss Horn. Mr Mellis’s shop was directly opposite Miss Horn’s house, and his wife’s parlour was over the shop, looking into the street; hence the two neighbours could not but see each other pretty often; beyond a stiff nod, however, no sign of smouldering friendship had as yet broken out. Miss Horn was consequently a good deal surprised when, having gone into the shop to buy some trifle, Mr Mellis informed her, in all but a whisper, that his wife was very anxious to see her alone for a moment, and begged her to have the goodness to step up to the parlour. His customer gave a small snort, betraying her first impulse to resentment, but her nobler nature, which was never far from the surface, constrained her compliance.
Mrs Mellis rose hurriedly when the plumb-line figure of her neighbour appeared, ushered in by her husband, and received her with a somewhat embarrassed empressement, arising from the consciousness of good-will disturbed by the fear of imputed meddlesomeness. She knew the inward justice of Miss Horn, however, and relied upon that, even while she encouraged herself by waking up the ever present conviction of her own superiority in the petite morale of social intercourse. Her general tendency indeed was to look down upon Miss Horn: is it not usually the less that looks down on the greater? I had almost said it must be, for that the less only can look down; but that would not hold absolutely in the kingdoms of this world, while in the kingdom of heaven it is all looking up.
“Sit ye doon, Miss Horn,” she said; “it’s a lang time sin we had a news thegither.”
Miss Horn seated herself with a begrudged acquiescence.
Had Mrs Mellis been more of a tactician, she would have dug a few approaches ere she opened fire upon the fortress of her companion’s fair-hearing: but instead of that, she at once discharged the imprudent question—
“Was ye at hame last nicht, mem, atween the hoors o’ aucht an’ nine?”—a shot which instantly awoke in reply the whole battery of Miss Horn’s indignation.
“Wha am I, to be speirt sic a queston! Wha but yersel’ wad hae daurt it, Mistress Mellis?”
“Huly (softly), huly, Miss Horn!” expostulated her questioner. “I hae nae wuss to pry intill ony secrets o’ yours, or—”
“Secrets!” shouted Miss Horn.
But her consciousness of good intent, and all but assurance of final victory, upheld Mrs Mellis.