"Did you expect a letter, my dear?"
"Well--yes, I kind of thought I should have heard;" and her colour deepened. Two nights before she had striven so hard to impress her address on the memory of her cavalier of the tobogganing. They had parted such good friends--on her side at least--that she had been promising herself a letter from him all the day before. It would come, however, sooner or later, she told herself, and thereby found strength to possess her soul in patience.
"My letter is from Penelope Stanley," said Mrs. Bunce. "Dionysius, can you drive me out to the Miss Stanley's place, in the cutter[[1]] to-day? She asked me to deliver a message to their man, and he should get it to-day."
"I was not going in that direction to-day, but it does not matter. I will take you; but you must arrange either to stay a few minutes only, or else to wait a few hours, as I have an appointment elsewhere."
"Here is Bruneau's wife coming down the hill, auntie; carrying a fat goose and a pair of ducks. Be sure you make a trade with her for the ducks; I believe in roast duck."
"A brace of ducks, my dear,"
"A pair of ducks, uncle. They're farmyard ducks. Think I went to Ellora Female College for nothing?"
"Call her in, Betsey, and let us take your erudition for granted."
"She won't come, auntie. Remember we're heretics. She wouldn't let herself be seen coming into a Protestant parson's house."
"Oh, yes, she will, if you ask her the price of her ducks. Money can do anything."