“Of course, you are a stickler for neatness, Juffrouw—Juffrouw?” cried Hephzibah, furiously, letting one of her eyes travel down the soiled ribbons of the visitor’s tawdry dress. “I like people to be tidy, not like you, Cousin John. Cleanliness is a great virtue, Juffrouw. Perhaps you know it is placed next to godliness.”
“Yes, I see it is,” replied Adeline, with a gesture of sudden malice—“sitting side by side.”
To such levity Hephzibah could allow no recognition. She was burning to find out the intruder’s name, and, after some futile strategy, which deepened the mystery, she boldly demanded it.
“Why, Klomp,” replied Adeline—“Klomp, of course. Isn’t it, Cousin John?” She winked at Hephzibah’s relation impudently.
“I don’t believe it,” said Hephzibah.
“Well, if it isn’t, I’ll make it so. Some day, perhaps, I’ll tell you more, and some day, perhaps, I sha’n’t. If you were going to have a new white dress, what color would you have it trimmed?”
“If I, or any other decent person of our class, were going to have a white dress, it would be a night-dress,” retorted Hephzibah, “and she wouldn’t have it trimmed at all.”
At this Adeline giggled and Hephzibah glared.
“Any one can see,” said Juffrouw Skiff, “that you’re a thrifty body and don’t waste your money on personal adornment. Married, I dare say, eh?—ah?—and a large family to look after.”
Both Klomp and Adeline roared.