“Now,” said Aunt Sophia, “I daresay it is very wicked; but if I could see my dear Doctor Scales made as happy as Saxby, I should like it very much indeed.—What do you think, Kate? Can I do anything about him and Lady Martlett?”
“No, aunt; I think not,” said Lady Scarlett. “And yet it seems to be a pity, for I am sure they are very fond of each other.”
“It’s their nasty unpleasant pride keeps them apart,” said Aunt Sophia. “Anna Martlett is as proud as Lucifer; and Scales is as proud as—as—as the box.” For Aunt Sophia was at a loss for a simile, and this was the only word that suggested itself.
“Let them alone,” said Lady Scarlett. “Matters may come right after all.”
“But it’s so stupid of him,” cried Aunt Sophia. “Hang the man! What does he want? She can’t help having a title and being rich. Why, she’s dying for him.”
“But she sets a barrier between them, every time they meet,” said Lady Scarlett.
“Yes; they’re both eaten up with pride,” cried Aunt Sophia. “Oh, if I were Scales, I’d give her such a dose!”
“Would you, aunt?”
“That I would. And if I were Anna Martlett, I’d box his ears till he went down on his knees and asked me to marry him.”
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, you haven’t seen master about, have you?” said John Monnick.