“Nor,” continued Liz, hastening to equalise her illustration, “nor that Mrs Rampy might be better—”
“Right you are,” said Mrs Blathers, with sarcasm. “And I’m still surer,” said Liz hurriedly—a little put out at the ready reception of her propositions—“that I might be better—”
“Not at all,” interrupted both ladies at once; “you’re a trump, Liz, you’re a dear creetur!”
“Come, then,” cried old Liz, with a laugh that set the fang wobbling, “you are at all events agreed upon that point so—have another cup, Mrs Rampy.”
“Thankee, Liz, and plenty of sugar.”
“H’m! you need it!” muttered Mrs Blathers; “no sugar at all for me, Liz.”
“Well, now,” cried Liz, rendered bold by desperation, “I do wonder that two such strong, warm-hearted women as you should so often fall out. Each of you loves some one—don’t I know!—with powerful affection, so, why couldn’t you love each other?”
This tribute to their feelings so tickled the women that they set down their tea-cups and laughed prodigiously.
“Now, do,—there’s a couple of dears!—shake hands over your tea, an’ let’s have a pleasant talk,” said old Liz, following up her advantage.
The mollified women did not shake hands, but each raised her tea-cup to her lips and winked.