“I declare it’s too bad,” continued mamma; “he knows how anxious I am when he’s away, and yet he comes creeping back at daybreak, like a burglar, to steal his own fishing-tackle, and goes, no one knows where, after a few nasty trout.”
“Then Mr Tregenna must be better,” said Madge.
“Oh, yes, my dear, he’s better,” said Mrs Rumsey, petulantly. “What a silly girl you are to think of such things. I’m sure I ought to be a framing to you. Look at me!”
Certainly, as an example against entering into the marriage state Mrs Rumsey was a warning; but, like most other such warnings, ineffectual.
“I couldn’t help calling just to try and hear a few words,” said Madge; “but you won’t betray me, dear?”
“Oh, no, I won’t tell, Madge,” said Mrs Rumsey, a little less grimly, and evidently greatly delighted at being made the repository of the young girl’s love affair. “But I do wonder at you, Madge,” she said, in a whisper, with a slice of bread and butter half cut. “John Tregenna’s all very well, and certainly he has a noble nose, but you’ve got somebody far nicer at home.”
“Yes, isn’t he nice?” whispered back Madge.
“I’ve only seen him once, dear, but I thought him far before John Tregenna.”
“Yes,” said Madge, sighing.
“Yes, I know, my dear. John Tregenna has such a way with him.”