"She shan't wear those dreadful things," exclaimed Fenie, untying the bags, despite Trixy's remonstrances. "She shan't keep cotton in her ears, either. The idea of the darling little thing being——"
"Let her have her way a little while," said Trif. "It will amuse her, without harming any one else. Besides, you may accidentally mention Harry Trewman in the course of the afternoon, and——"
There must have been a note of sarcasm in Trif's voice, for Fenie retorted sharply:
"Tryphosa, this is your house, and if you dislike that young man so much that you object to the child hearing the sound of his name, why I——"
"Fenie! Fenie, dear!" interrupted Trif, scarcely able to control her voice and not daring to lift her eyes from the work which she had resumed. "Whatever you like to talk about, you know I like to hear about. Aren't you my only sister, and my——"
"I didn't suppose that I talked much about Harry Trewman," said Fenie, making a pretense of sewing industriously.
"You mean nothing but what is entirely right, dear girl."
"Then why do you object to that innocent child hearing what I say? I'm sure that I say nothing which any one might not listen to—do I?"
"Certainly not; still, don't you remember what happened a night or two ago, dear, through a certain child hearing something and repeating it?"