“I don’t know that I could spare the time this morning,” said Mrs. Hastings. “Are you going far?”
“I can go far or not, as you please,” replied Maria. “We have a new carriage, and George told me at breakfast that I had better try it, and see how I liked it.”
“A new carriage!” replied Mrs. Hastings, her accent betraying surprise. “Had you not enough carriages already, Maria?”
“In truth, I think we had, mamma. This new one is one that George took a fancy to when he was in London last week; and he bought it.”
“Child—though of course it is no business of mine—you surely did not want it. What sort of carriage is it?”
“It is a large one: a sort of barouche. It will do you good to go out with me. I will order it at once, if you will do so, mamma.”
Mrs. Hastings did not immediately reply. She appeared to have fallen into thought. Presently she raised her head and looked at Maria.
“My dear, I have long thought of mentioning to you a certain subject; and I think I will do so now. Strictly speaking, it is, as I say, no business of mine, but I cannot help being anxious for your interests.”
Maria felt somewhat alarmed. It appeared a formidable preamble.
“I and your papa sometimes talk it over, one with another. And we say”—Mrs. Hastings smiled, as if to disarm her words of their serious import—“that we wish we could put old heads upon young shoulders. Upon yours and your husband’s.”