"There is neither beginning nor end: you make me feel quite vexed, Tom."
"Neither beginning nor end? Then there can be nothing to tell."
"No, nothing. You had better go on with your sermon and make an end of that."
"I have made an end of it," he said, laughing, "and now, joking aside, Anne, what have you to say about Mrs. Vavasour?"
"If you are serious, Tom, I will tell you, but not else," she replied.
"I am serious, Anne; quite serious."
"Then tell me what is to be done with that poor bereaved Amy,—who has not shed a single tear since her child's death, four days ago now;—or her husband, who I verily believe worships her, and yet is as cold as a stone, and from no want of love on her part either, for I can see plainly by the way she follows him with her eyes sometimes, that she is as fond of him as—as—"
"You are of me," he said.
"Nonsense, Tom. They were so happy last time we came over to see them, that I cannot understand what has caused the change. Can you make any guess at all so as to help me? for oh! Tom, I would give the world to know."
"Curiosity again, Anne?"