“Shall we?” said her sister, smiling.
“Oh, yes. It will be a parochial visit all the same. Only fancy, Polly with a baby! What a little stupid she was to leave us to come back here and marry a wheelwright!”
“I don’t know,” said Julia quietly; “perhaps she is very happy.”
“Oh, of course. People are when they get married. Come along; I want to see Polly’s baby. I wish she had not left us. She was such a clever maid.”
“I was very glad she went,” said Julia gravely.
“Glad? Why?”
“Because of Cyril. He was always following her about. She complained to me several times.”
“Cyril is a wretch!” said Cynthia, with heightened colour. “Papa ought to whip him. He always would look at pretty girls. I say, Ju, did you see Miss Portlock, the schoolmistress, on Monday? Was she nice?”
“Yes, I thought her very nice and superior. She is the churchwarden’s niece. Hush! here is Mr Paulby.”
“Good-morning, ladies,” said a little plump man, raising his hat and showing his slightly-bald head. “What a lovely morning! I think I dare prophesy where you are going.”