“Tut, tut! Dobbs. Give me a pin—you don’t intend—but you sometimes say things that make my flesh creep—yes—you don’t know it—but you do.”
“Dear me, Ma’am,” ejaculated old Winnie, who was never very much startled by Aunt Dinah’s violent remarks.
“So, I think, old Dobbs, we shall soon have a wedding here,” said Miss Perfect, after a silence, changing the subject.
“Well, well, I should not wonder, Ma’am,” answered she.
“But you’re not to say one word about it to Miss Violet until she speaks to you—do you mind—not a word—and that will be, I think, to-morrow.”
“To-morrow!” exclaimed Winnie.
“Not the wedding, old goose, but the talk of it. I think it will be all settled to-morrow, and I’m glad, and I’m sorry. Give me my snuff-box—thanks. She has never spoken to you on the subject?” said Aunt Dinah.
“No, no, Ma’am; never,” answered Winnie.
“Nor to me. But I know all about it from another quarter, and I hope she’ll not be a fool. She’ll never have so good an offer again. I like him extremely. I have the best opinion of him, and the sergeant is very much pleased; indeed, it’s quite unexceptionable, and I do expect, Winnie Dobbs, if she should talk to you, you’ll not try to frighten her. You and I are old maids, and I believe we chose wisely; but we are not to frighten nervous girls by drawing terrific pictures of matrimony, and maundering about bad husbands and unprovided children; young girls are so easily frightened away from anything that’s prudent: and, though we are old maids, there’s a good deal to be said on the other side of the question—so, do you mind?”
“Dear me, Ma’am, I’d be sorry she wasn’t to get a good husband, I would.”