"There's nothing amiss with her, after all.—Sophy, what excuses have you brought in your bag?—it seems to be full."
"I wish you'd make some for Julius, aunt Ellen—I can see Mrs. Derrick has only half forgiven him."
"Has she got so far as that?" said Mrs. Somers.
"I don't know. Faith, you might come and say something—you know if it isn't true; and Mrs. Derrick will hear you."
Faith was busy giving Mrs. Somers a chair, and certainly looked as if she had nobody to forgive anything in the wide world.
"What do you want me to say, Sophy?"
"Why, that Julius wasn't to blame."
"I find it is still a disputed point, whether a man has a right to break his own neck," said Mrs. Somers. "I think he hasn't, myself, but most people don't agree with me. Mr. Somers thinks people may run away alone or together, just as they've a mind. I don't know whether it's the fees or the freedom that takes his fancy."
"I suppose, my dear," said Mr. Somers, "a man may lawfully set out to take a ride without intending to break his own neck, or anybody else's; and find it done at the end, without blame to himself. I never was, I hope, a promoter of—ha!—flighty marriages—to which you seem to allude."
"If he finds it done at the end, it isn't done very thoroughly," said Mrs. Somers. "But Pattaquasset's growing up into a novel—last week furnished with a hero, and this week with a heroine,—the course of things can't run smooth now. So we may all look out for breakers—of horses, I hope, among other things."