"Edward Thornton! the heir-at-law! Pooh! Mrs. Digby! he has not a penny, and Mr. Thornton won't die just yet."
"He is very handsome," spiritedly returned Mrs. Digby; "but, as I said, if Miss Grainger will put herself in the hands of Mrs. Brand, why she must bear with the consequences, Mrs. Marks."
So saying, Mrs. Digby for the first time turned towards me. She was a thin, fair, faded woman, attired in a light blue dress, which, like its wearer, was rather pass?e. She sat by the table, with the tip of her elbow resting on the edge; drooping in a graceful willow-like attitude, she raised a tortoise-shell eye-glass to her eyes, examined me through it, then dropping it with lady-like grace, sighed forth—
"How do you feel, darling?"
I was proud, more proud than shy; I resented being left to the subordinates of my grandfather's household, and did not choose to answer. Mrs. Marks spared me the trouble.
"You might as well talk to the cat, Mrs. Digby. Children," she added, giving me an impressive look of her dull eyes, "are, up to a certain age, little animal creatures: they have speech, sensation, but neither thought nor feeling. Mr. Marks and I would never have anything to do with them."
"Oh! Mrs. Marks! a baby?"
"Have you ever had one?"
Mrs. Digby reddened, and asked for an explanation. Mrs. Marks asked to know if there had not been a Mr. Digby? No. But there might have been a Mr. Wilkinson, two Messrs. Jones—Mr. Thompson was coming on, and Mr. John Smith was looming in the distance, when Mrs. Marks interrupted the series by pouring out the tea. I sat between the two ladies, but I ate nothing.
"That child won't live," observed Mrs. Marks at the close of her own hearty meal; "she is a puny thing for her age; besides it is not natural in such an essentially physical creature as a child not to eat; why don't you eat, Anna?"