“Then I think you are a very disagreeable story-telling old woman!” flashed Helen, all candour in her mortification. “Not be married, indeed!”
“Why, my dear, I’d be only too glad to promise you a husband if the cards foretelled it,” said Dame Ness, pityingly. “Yours is the best fortune of all, though, if you could but bring your mind to see it. Husbands is more plague nor profit. I’m sure I had cause to say so by the one that fell to my share, as that there dear good lady knows,” pointing to Miss Deveen.
In high dudgeon, Helen pushed the cards together. Mrs. Ness, getting some kind words from the rest of us, curtsied as she went off to the cottage to see about the kettles for our tea.
“You are a nice young lady!” exclaimed Bill. “Showing your temper because the cards don’t give you a sweetheart!”
Helen threw her fan at him. “Mind your own business,” returned she. And he went away laughing.
“And, my dear, I say the same as William,” added Lady Whitney. “One really might think that you were—were anxious to be married.”
“All cock-a-hoop for it,” struck in Cattledon: “as the housemaids are.”
“And no such great crime, either,” returned Helen, defiantly. “Fancy that absurd old thing telling me I never shall be!”
“Helen, my dear, I think the chances are that you will not be married,” quietly spoke Miss Deveen.
“Oh, do you!”