“A raffle?” cried Lady Di., turning her back immediately upon the doll and the lace.
“Well,” cried Mrs. Puffit, “instead of eight say seven and twenty shillings, Miss Burrage, for old acquaintance sake.”
“Old acquaintance!” exclaimed Miss Burrage: “la! Mrs. Puffit, I don’t remember ever being twice in your shop all the time I was at the Wells before.”
“No, ma’am,” replied Mrs. Puffit, with a malicious smile—“but when you was living on Saint Augustin’s Back.”
“Saint Augustin’s Back, my dear!” exclaimed Lady Diana Chillingworth, with a look of horror and amazement.
Miss Burrage, laying down a bank-note on the counter, made a quick and expressive sign to the milliner to hold her tongue.
“Dear Mrs. Puffit,” cried she, “you certainly mistake me for some other strange person. Lady Di., now I look at it with my glass, this lace is very fine, I must agree with you, and not dear, by any means, for real Valenciennes: cut me off three yards of this lace—I protest there’s no withstanding it, Lady Di.”
“Three yards at eight and twenty—here, Jesse,” said Mrs. Puffit. “I beg your pardon, ma’am, for my mistake; I supposed it was some other lady of the same name; there are so many Burrages. Only three yards did you say, ma’am?”
“Nay, I don’t care if you give me four. I’m of the Burrages of Dorsetshire.”
“A very good family, those Burrages of Dorsetshire, as any in England,” said Lady Di.—“and put up twelve yards of this for me, Mrs. Puffit.”