A friend from Hastings—a Mrs. Hannington—had come to tea with Mrs. Pickett and Minnie, and the farmer entertained them all with his news about Mr. Barrimore’s “young lady.”
“Them two are sweethearts, if I know anything,” he said with a facetious smile. “Miss Lane had hold of his arm, and they seemed mighty cosy.”
“Miss Lane is a flirt,” announced Mrs. Hannington with disapproval. “I’ve seen her on the sea-front with one chap after another. It was Captain Arbuthnot a bit ago, but he’s gone away. I suppose she’s taken up with Mr. Barrimore for a spell. I wonder the Colonel lets her carry on like she does! If she were a girl of mine she wouldn’t do it!”
Minnie tossed her head at this. She, too, had been the subject of Mrs. Hannington’s disapproval before to-day.
“Miss Lane and Mr. Barrimore have been as good as brought up together, the families being so friendly,” Minnie observed.
“And supposing they have!” broke out Mrs. Hannington. “It isn’t right and proper for her to come to his house, with him all by himself like he is! I don’t call it decent. And what men find in Miss Lane I can’t think. She isn’t pretty, so far as my eyes tell me. Now, that girl at the White House has looks. I saw her as I came by.”
“Look here, Minnie!” interrupted the farmer. “Have those fowl-houses had a coat of limewash to-day?”
“Yes, father.”
“And was some paraffin mixed in with it?”
“I don’t know.”