"I did my best."
"Angels can do no more," said Quinney admiringly. "Upset yer neighbours, too."
He smiled maliciously, having suffered long and patiently at the hands of neighbours. Mrs. Biddlecombe feigned ignorance of his meaning, when Quinney laughed again, almost indecorously.
"Lord bless you, I know all about that. You pinched to get that piano," he indicated an ancient instrument, "because it was the only one in the row. And French! By Gum! Is there a girl except Susie who parleyvoos in this part of the town? Not one! The whole row gnashes its teeth over that."
His pride in Susan's accomplishments touched the mother's heart. Her voice rang out clearly and triumphantly:
"It's perfectly true."
At this moment Susan Biddlecombe entered the parlour, and Quinney sprang to his feet to greet her. She was just eighteen, and very pretty and refined, with small hands and feet, and delicately-cut features. The mother boasted that she looked a gentlewoman, and for the purposes of this narrative, it is far more important to add that she was innately gentle and womanly, with no tainting tincture of the ogling, smirking, provincial coquette.
Quinney kissed her!
Mrs. Biddlecombe blushed scarlet. Susan smiled, hesitated, and then kissed Quinney.
Mrs. Biddlecombe ejaculated "Gracious!"