“Not a bit of it.”
“Oh, I am glad!” cried Miss Burge, clapping her hands. “It would have been shocking if it had been true.”
“Did you go down and see Miss Thorne?”
“No, dear; I came to tell you directly.”
“You ought to have gone down and asked her about it, Betsey,” said her brother stiffly.
“Ought I, Bill dear? Oh, I am so sorry! I’ll go down at once.”
“No, you won’t: I’ll go myself. Perhaps, poor girl! she has spent the money because it was wanted about her brother, and she’s been afraid to speak about it, when of course, if she’d just said a word to you, Betsey, you’d have let her have fifty or a hundred pound in a minute.”
“No, indeed, Bill dear, for I haven’t got it,” said Miss Burge innocently.
“Yes, you have, dear,” he said, screwing up his face, and opening and shutting one eye a great deal. “Of course she wouldn’t take it from me, but she would from you, you know. Don’t you see?”
“Oh, Bill dear, what a one you are!” cried little Miss Burge. “I’ll go down to her at once.”