“Oh, you’ll get the hanging soon enough if you go on wearing that red bodice and stringing pictures of King George on your balcony!”
“So mother says. And hanging is not a becoming way to die; one has no opportunity to say that ‘prunes, prisms, and preserves’ sentence that leaves the mouth in such a charming pucker. Well, since my lips are to be awry, I trust they will give me time to put on my new silver-buckled shoes. It would be a comfort to know that at least my feet looked their best.”
“Joscelyn! You are perfectly horrid.”
“You mean I would be without the ‘prunes and prisms’ expression.”
Mary struck her horse and rode forward a few yards, but presently fell back again beside her companion.
“What I asked you just now related to Eustace. Do you think—”
“I said I was not thinking.”
“Well, begin at once. Is there any danger that Eustace will really try to marry Betty Clevering?”
“Danger is a wrong word, Mary. If Eustace is ever so fortunate as to win Betty, he should spend the rest of his life in thanksgiving. She is as true as steel, and better tempered than either of us.”