“Why, Aunt Sophia’s; the lady who is coming to-morrow.”
“Oh, dear!” said Mr. Dale; “but she must not come. This cannot be permitted; I cannot endure it.”
“Paddy, you have given John directions to fetch her. Now, then, what is she like?”
“I don’t know, children. I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Prod, Renny! Prod!”
“Padre,” said Verena, “is she old or young?”
“Old, I think; perhaps neither.”
“Write it down, Briar. She is neither old nor young. Paddy, is she dark or fair?”
“I really can’t remember, dear. A most unpleasant person.”
“Put down that she is—not over-beautiful,” said Verena. “Paddy, must we put on our best dresses when she comes—our Sunday go-to-meeting frocks, you know?”