"Well, Mother?"
"Don't be provoking, Ann. Is Mr. Scott anything to you?"
Ann turned serene grey eyes to her mother. "Nothing," she said, "except a pleasant friend. That's all he wants to be, I'm sure."
"But, Ann, don't you think..."
"I never think, Mother..."
Ann caught the Tatler in her arms and sank with it into the depths of an arm-chair.
"There's something exceedingly nice about being a spinster. Here's Marget. I shall ask her what she thinks. Marget, you don't regret being a spinster, do you?"
Marget came farther into the room and peered suspiciously at Ann in the arm-chair with the cat in her arm.
"Ye're no' gaun to pit it doon in writin' are ye? Weel, that's a' richt. To tell the truth I hadna muckle encouragement to be onything else. I wasna juist a'thegither negleckit, but I never had a richt offer. But lookin' roond I've often been thankfu' I wasna trachled wi' a man. Ye see, livin' a' ma life wi' kin o' better folk I wad ha' taken ill wi' a man sittin' in his stockin' feet and spittin' into the fire. Genteel service spoils ye; but, of course, a'body's no sae particlar.... Mysie, the monkey, hes gotten a lawd."
"What did I say," Ann cried. "Who is he, Marget?"