The degradation did not seem to affect the others, for Brother William’s cheeks quite shone, and the high lights on Martha’s two glossy smooth hands of hair seemed to be brighter than ever.
“Good-night,” said Brother William. “Good-night, Martha.”
“Good-night, William.”
“You’ll keep a sharp eye on Fanny till I fetch you away; won’t you?”
“I always do, William; but I’m afraid her eyes are sharper than mine.”
“What do you mean?” he said quietly.
“I’m afraid she’s got a sweetheart.”
“Who is it?” said Brother William sternly.
“I don’t know yet. Sometimes I think it’s a real one, and sometimes I think it’s all sham—only one out of her magazines that she talks about; but I’m not sure.”
“Then look here, Martha: you’ve got to be sure,” said Brother William, who was as business-like now as if he had been selling his hay. “You’ve got to make sure, and tell me, for I’m not going to have anybody play the fool with her. If any one does, there’ll be something the matter somewhere;” and shaking his head very fiercely, Brother William strode away, giving a thump with his stick at every step along the road.