“Really, my dear,” expostulated her husband, “I am sure you do the boy injustice.”
“Don’t call me ‘my dear,’” said Mrs. Briggs, scornfully. “I can’t see what has got into you. You certainly must be wilfully blind if you don’t see through the artfulness of that boy.”
“What has he done?”
“He has wormed himself into the intimacy of Mr. Vivian; that is what he has done.”
“Why shouldn’t he? If Mr. Vivian is inclined to befriend him, it will be a saving to me.”
“It won’t be for long. Mr. Vivian will find him out, and cast him off.”
“I don’t know that there is anything in particular to find out. He seems to me as good as the average of boys.”
“Well, Mr. Briggs, I can only say that you seem infatuated about him. I beg to say that I am not.”
“That is apparent,” said her husband, smiling.
“Moreover,” added his wife, provoked, “I wish to tell you that it is disagreeable to me to have him in the house. So the sooner you can find a boarding-house for him the better.”