“Oh, indeed!” put in Phillis. “I hope Mrs. Squails will take her creased gown! Dulce, the sewing-machine is right on the top of it,—a most improving process, certainly.”
“Now, Phillis, you will just shut up with your nonsense! As head of the family, I am not going to stand any more of this sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?” asked Mrs. Challoner, timidly. “My dears, I thought it was only fun; but I do believe your cousin is in earnest.”
“I am quite in earnest, Aunt Catherine,” returned Sir Harry, sitting down beside her, and taking her hand. “I hope our bit of larking has not been too much for you; but that fellow vowed it would be a good joke.” Here Dick’s eyes twinkled. “If Mrs. Squails’s gown is spoiled, I will buy her another; but on your peril, girls, if you put a stitch in any but your own from this day forward!”
“Please your honor, kindly,” whined Phillis, dropping a courtesy, “and what will your honor have us do?”
“Do!” and then he broke into a laugh. “Oh, I will tell you that presently. All I know is, Nan is engaged to my friend Mayne here; and I have promised his father, on my word as a gentleman and head of this family, that this dressmaking humbug shall be given up.”
“You had no right to give such a promise,” returned 342 Phillis, offended at this; but Nan’s hand stole into Dick’s. She understood now.
“But, Harry, my dear,” asked Mrs. Challoner, “what would you have them do?”
“Oh, play tennis,—dance,—flirt, if they like! How do young ladies generally occupy their time? Don’t let us talk about such petty details as this. I want to tell you about my new house. You all know Gilsbank? Well, it is ‘Challoner Place’ now.”
“You have bought it, Harry?”