"Of course, my dear, you don't think Jennie very rustic in her ideas, but she has a certain odd way about her that is not the highest mark of good breeding."
"Common sense, as her wise-headed mother terms it," remarked Evelyn, with a scornful curl upon the otherwise pretty lips.
On the following evening Mr. Verne entered the small back parlor adjoining the library. Mrs. Verne was seated at a daintily-carved ebony work-table. A piece of silk lay upon her knee and many shades of crewel were spread out before her.
"Busy, my dear?" queried the husband, greeting his wife in a pleasant, quiet way.
"Really, Stephen [Note: hand-written, 'Richard' inked out], have you found time to venture in here? Surely there must have been a mistake somewhere," returned Mrs. Verne, in an affected and patronizing manner, that from a quick-tempered man would have forced a hasty and perhaps disagreeable speech.
But Mr. Verne sat down and commenced asking such stray questions as came into his mind.
"Where have the girls gone to-night, Matilda?"
"Jennie and Marguerite, you mean?" queried Mrs. Verne, dexterously weaving the bright silks into a pretty many-hued flower.
"It is the night of the concert, and they have accepted Mr. Lawson as escort." A slight frown accompanies the speech.
"Indeed," said Mr. Verne, with a knowing look upon his face, then turning abruptly towards his wife, added, "It seems to me that Jennie has made an impression upon Mr. Lawson."