“Where do you get your arrowroot, ma’am?” asked Mrs Rowland. “I want some extremely for my poor dear Anna; and I can procure none that is at all to compare with yours.”
“Mrs Grey was so kind as to send me some, my dear; and it really is excellent. Phoebe, how much of it is there left? I dare say there may be enough for a cup or two for dear little Anna.”
Phoebe replied, that there was very little left—not any more than her mistress would require before she could grow stronger. Mrs Rowland would not take the rest of the arrowroot on any account: she was only wondering where Mrs Grey got it, and how it was that the Greys always contrived to help themselves to the best of everything. Phoebe was going to observe that they helped their neighbours to good things as well as themselves; but a look from her mistress stopped her. Mrs Enderby remarked that she had no doubt she could learn from Mrs Grey or Sophia, the next time she saw either of them, where they procured their arrowroot. “It is a long time since I saw Mrs Grey,” she observed, timidly.
“My dear ma’am, how can you think of seeing any one in your present state?” inquired the daughter. “One need but see the flush in your face, to know that it would be highly improper for you to admit company. I could not take the responsibility of allowing it.”
“But Mrs Grey is not company, my love.”
“Any one is company to an invalid. I assure you I prevented Mr Rowland’s coming for the reason I assign. He was coming yesterday, but I would not let him.”
“I should like to see him, however. And I should like to see Mrs Grey too.”
Under pretence of arranging her mistress’s shawl, Phoebe touched the old lady’s shoulder, in token of intelligence. Mrs Enderby was somewhat flurried at the liberty which she felt her maid had taken with her daughter; but she could not notice it now; and she introduced another subject. Had everybody done calling on the Hopes? Were the wedding visits all over? Oh, yes, Mrs Rowland was thankful to say; that fuss was at an end at last. One would think nobody had ever been married before, by the noise that had been made in Deerbrook about this young couple.
“Mr Hope is such a favourite!” observed Mrs Enderby.
“He has been so; but it won’t last. I never saw a young man so gone off as he is. He has not been like the same man since he connected himself with the Greys so decidedly. Surely, ma’am, you must perceive that.”