“Foxes be hanged!” said Luke.
“And fools be hanged!” said Mrs. Somerton, banging the door, and leaving her liege lord to his own thoughts.
“By all means,” said Luke, still thinking of the handsome women whom he had seen in the lane.
“And that painter fellow,” said Mrs. Somerton, returning; “he’s in the woods yonder. Old Tallant must have lost the small portion of brains that God gave him to begin with, if he can’t see that his daughter is befooling him.”
“Why, Sarah, you are mad on this point. These girls seem to worry your life out.”
“Mad? You may trust a mother’s eyes, Luke Somerton, to see what’s going on. I tell you, that ugly little blackamoor painter fellow is making love to Miss Tallant, and that the future Lord Verner is sneaking about after our Amy.”
“The future Lord Verner after Amy!—stuff! you’re dreaming, wife,” said Luke.
“Some people’s dreams are as good as the waking thoughts of other people,” Mrs. Somerton replied.
“Well, we shall see—we shall see,” said Luke, carelessly.
“Yes, when it’s too late,” Mrs. Somerton rejoined, with an emphatic nod of her head.