“Ugh! You stupid old woman! Isn’t she young and pretty? And artful, too, I’ll be bound; poor Doctor’s young sisters always are.”
“Are they, dear?”
“Of course they are; and before she’d been here five minutes she’d be making eyes at that boy, and you know he’s just like gunpowder.”
“James, dear, you shouldn’t.”
“I was just as bad at his age—worse perhaps;” and Mr James Wilton, the stern, sage Squire of Northwood Manor, J.P., chairman of the Quarter Sessions, and several local institutions connected with the morals of the poor, chuckled softly, and very nearly laughed.
“James, dear, I’m surprised at you.”
“Humph! Well, boys will be boys. You know what he is.”
“But do you really think—”
“Yes, I do really think, and I wish you would too. Kate does not take to our boy half so well as I should like to see, and nothing must occur to set her against him. It would be madness.”
“Well, it would be very disappointing if she married anyone else.”