“Hush! don’t talk like that,” said her sister; “here she is.”
Little Mrs Morrison came into the room again, looking very red-faced and hot.
“What a funny little maid you have got, Polly!” cried Cynthia.
“Yes, Miss Cynthia; she is from the workhouse, and she is a little clumsy, but she is very faithful, and so fond of baby.”
“And what is to be its name?” cried Cynthia.
“Rose, Miss; and—and,” stammered the young wife, looking very hard at Julia.
“And what, Polly?”
“I—I had a sort of idea, Miss Julia, that—”
“That what, Polly? Speak out!”
“Of asking you and Miss Cynthia if—”