“It must indeed be serious, if Marianne can’t speak,” observed Welsh dryly; “I’ll run down to Orleigh to-morrow.”
“How is your nephew? Mrs. Tubb hadn’t heard of him for three or four months. I dare say anxiety about him has brought on the seizure.”
“My late nephew?” Welsh heaved a sigh. “Poor fellow, he is gone. He always was delicate.”
“Gone!—”
“Yes—to a warm place.”
“It is not for us to judge,” said Mrs. Cribbage, sternly.
“Well, perhaps not,” answered Welsh; “but between you and me, ma’am, for what else was he fit?”
“I always considered that he gave himself airs, and I had an impression that he indulged in free-thinking. Still, he was not positively vicious. Nothing was proved against his morals.”
“Others go to a warm place that shall be nameless, besides those who are positively vicious.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Cribbage, “that is true, sadly true. And now to change the topic—how is Miss Inglett? Is she still with you?”