And she nodded her head emphatically.
Fanny and Ellen, who stood looking on, reddened impatiently at this:
“I’m sick and tired of hearing about Andrew Bolton,” complained Ellen. “I’ve heard nothing else since I can remember. It’s a pity you bought this house, Miss Orr: I heard Mr. Elliot say it was like stirring up a horrid, muddy pool. Not very complimentary to Brookville; but then—”
“Don’t you think people will—forget after a while?” asked Lydia, her blue eyes fixed appealingly on the two young faces. “I don’t see why everybody should—”
“Well, if you’d fixed the house entirely different,” said Mrs. Dix. “But having it put back, just as it was, and wanting the old furniture and all—whatever put that into your head, my dear?”
“I heard it was handsome and old—I like old things. And, of course, it was—more in keeping to restore the house as it was, than to—”
“Well, I s’pose that’s so,” conceded Mrs. Dodge, her quick dark eyes busy with the renovated interior. “I’d sort of forgot how it did look when the Boltons was livin’ here. But speaking of furniture; I see Mrs. Judge Fulsom let you have the old sofa. I remember she got it at the auction; she’s kept it in her parlor ever since.”
“Yes,” said Lydia. “I was only too happy to give a hundred dollars for the sofa. It has been excellently preserved.”
“A hundred dollars!” echoed Mrs. Dix. “Well!”
Mrs. Dodge giggled excitedly, like a young girl.