“I declare it’s as warm as summer in this path!” cried Mr. Snow. “Now mind, Mrs. George, you shall stay here for half an hour; and if you grow tired there’s a bench to sit upon. Little damsel, if mamma goes indoors, you tell me the next time I come. She is to stay out.”
“I’ll not tell of mamma,” said Meta, throwing down her spade and turning her earnest eyes, her rosy cheeks, full on Mr. Snow.
He laughed as he walked away. “You are to stay out for the half-hour, mind you, Mrs. George. I insist upon it.”
Direct disobedience would not have been expedient, if only in the light of example to Meta; but Maria had rather been out on any other day, or been ordered to any other path. This was the first time she had seen David Jekyl since the Bank had failed, and his father’s loss was very present to her.
“How are you, David?” she inquired.
“I’m among the middlins,” shortly answered David.
“And your father? I heard he was ill.”
“So he is ill. He couldn’t be worser.”
“I suppose the coming winter is against him?”
“Other things are again him as well as the coming winter,” returned David. “Fretting, for one.”