There was nothing for it but for Hazel Thorne to lead the van, leaving little Miss Burge in charge of the rear, seeing which state of affairs, Mr William Forth Burge was about to leave his sister and go up to the front and continue his egotistical discourse; but here he was checked by Miss Burge.
“No, no, Bill; you mus’n’t,” she whispered.
“Mus’n’t what?”
“Mustn’t go after her and walk like that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because—because she’s—well, because she’s so nice, and young, and pretty,” whispered Miss Burge, who was at a loss for a reason.
“But that’s why I like to go and talk to her, Betsey,” exclaimed the man of fortune heartily. “She’s about the nicest young lady I think I ever did see.”
“But you mus’n’t, Bill,” said his sister in alarm, “people would talk.”
“Let ’em,” said the ex-butcher proudly. “I can afford it. Let ’em talk.”
“But it might be unpleasant for Miss Thorne, dear.”