“She has refused him!” she cried exultantly to her sister.
“What a deliverance!” ejaculated Mrs. Webster devoutly. “Give me my nux vomica, Lizzie; and do see that my hot-water bottle is hot to-night. Mary Ann does not boil the water. I am sure of it! Yes, it is a deliverance! I think that Dan might wait till his poor mother is underground before wanting to marry. It won’t be long, anyway.”
“Creaking doors hang the longest, Maria,” replied Miss Linkin. “You’ve been a poor creature ever since Isabel was born, and you are not gone yet!”
“That has nothing at all to do with it!” rejoined Mrs. Webster. “I’m nearing my three-score years and ten—the allotted time of man.”
“You never were any good at arithmetic, Maria,” retorted her sister, nodding and making the corkscrew curls dance. “You were fifty-four last birthday.”
“That has nothing at all to do with it,” again asserted Mrs. Webster. “Keep to the point, Lizzie. Dan might wait for a wife till his mother is gone. What does he want with a wife? He has a comfortable home—well looked after.”
The last clause had the effect of putting Miss Linkin in a good humor. There were times—a great many times—when Mrs. Webster irritated her. Mrs. Webster had never been much of a housekeeper even in her days of health, while her sister had a born gift that way. She had a born gift, too, for industry. She was never a moment idle. At this particular moment she was putting fine darns into a damask table-cloth, which, under Mrs. Webster’s régime, would have long since been consigned to the rag-bag.
“Yes, Maria,” said Miss Linkin. “Dan’s home may not be exactly luxurious, but it is well kept, and Dan is certainly getting on. He has earned quite a lot of money with his portraits, and has a lot of commissions.”
“That is all very well, Lizzie,” broke in Mrs. Webster querulously, “but Dan’s eyes may go wrong again.”
“You always were a prophet of evil, Maria,” snapped Miss Linkin, whom the last remark had irritated. “You never see the bright side of anything.”