“Say?” laughed Mr Mervyn. “Oh, the poor old soul lets me take it to her as a favour, and says she eats it to oblige me.”
“It’s so funny with the poor people about,” said Fin; “they want things, but they won’t take them as if you were being charitable to them; they all try to make it seem like a favour they are doing you.”
“Well, I don’t know that I object to that much,” said Mr Mervyn.
“They’re all pleased enough to see us,” continued Fin; “but when Aunt Matty and papa go they preach at them, and the poor people don’t like it.”
“Fin!” said Tiny, in a warning voice.
“I don’t care,” said Fin; “it’s only Mr Mervyn, and we may speak to him. I say, Mr Mervyn, did you hear about old Mrs Poltrene and Aunt Matty?”
“Fin!” whispered Tiny, colouring.
“I will tell Mr Mervyn; it isn’t any harm,” cried downright Fin.
And her sister, seeing that she only made matters worse, remained silent.
“Mr Mervyn, you know old Mrs Poltrene, of course?”