“I wish William would mind his own business,” cried Fanny, stamping her foot. “He’s got a deal to talk about; coming and staring at a stupid housemaid.”
“Martha Betts aren’t stupid, my dear, and a housemaid’s is a very honourable situation. The first woman as ever lived in a house must have been a housemaid, just the same as the first man was a gardener. Don’t you sneer at lowly occupations. Everything as is honest is good.”
“Oh, yes, of course. But you won’t tell William?”
“I feel, my dear, as if I must,” said the old man, taking the girl’s hand, and patting it softly. “You’re a very pretty little lass, and it’s quite right that you should have a sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart, indeed!” cried Fanny in disgust,
“But that there Mr Arthur aren’t the right sort.”
“How do you know?” cried the girl defiantly.
“’Cause I’m an old man as has seen a deal of the world, my dear, and I’ve got a granddaughter just like you. I shouldn’t have thought it of Mr Arthur, and I don’t know as I shan’t speak to him about it myself.”
“Oh no, no!” cried the girl excitedly. “Pray, don’t do that.”
The old man loosed her hand to sit gazing thoughtfully before him, while the girl once more grasped his arm.