During this interval Bab employed herself, much to her own satisfaction, in cross-questioning Susan. She was rather provoked indeed that she could not learn exactly how each of the ladies was dressed, and what there was to be for dinner at the Abbey; and she was curious beyond measure to find out what Miss Somers meant, by saying that she would call at Mr. Price’s cottage at six o’clock in the evening. “What do you think she could mean?”
“I thought she meant what she said,” replied Susan, “that she would come here at six o’clock.”
“Ay, that’s as plain as a pike-staff,” said Barbara; “but what else did she mean, think you? People, you know, don’t always mean exactly, downright, neither more nor less than what they say.”
“Not always,” said Susan, with an arch smile, which convinced Barbara that she was not quite a simpleton.
“Not Always,” repeated Barbara colouring,—“oh, then I suppose you have some guess at what Miss Somers meant.”
“No,” said Susan, “I was not thinking about Miss Somers, when I said not always.”
“How nice that broth does look,” resumed Barbara, after a pause.
Susan had now poured the broth into a basin, and as she strewed over it the bright orange marigolds, it looked very tempting. She tasted it, and added now a little salt, and now a little more, till she thought it was just to her mother’s taste.
“Oh! I must taste it,” said Bab, taking the basin up greedily.
“Won’t you take a spoon?” said Susan, trembling at the large mouthfuls which Barbara sucked up with a terrible noise.