"By no means!" cried Mrs. Caruthers. "She is nobody, Philip. She comes from a family in the country—very respectable people, I have no doubt, but,—well, she is nobody. No connections, no habit of the world. And no money. They are quite poor people."
"That is serious," said Dillwyn. "Tom is in such straitened circumstances himself. I was thinking, he might be able to provide the hoop; but if she has no money, it is critical."
"You may laugh!" said Miss Julia. "That is all the comfort one gets from a man. But he does not laugh when it comes to be his own case, and matters have gone too far to be mended, and he is feeling the consequences of his rashness."
"You speak as if I were in danger! But I do not see how it should come to be 'my own case,' as I never even saw the lady. Who is she? and where is she? and how comes she—so dangerous—to be visiting you?"
All spoke now at once, and Philip heard a confused medley of "Mrs. Wishart"—"Miss Lothrop"—"staying with her"—"poor cousin"—"kind to her of course."
Mr. Dillwyn's countenance changed.
"Mrs. Wishart!" he echoed. "Mrs. Wishart is irreproachable."
"Certainly, but that does not put a penny in Miss Lothrop's pocket, nor give her position, nor knowledge of the world."
"What do you mean by knowledge of the world?" Mr. Dillwyn inquired with slow words.
"Why! you know. Just the sort of thing that makes the difference between the raw and the manufactured article," Miss Julia answered, laughing. She was comfortably conscious of being thoroughly "manufactured" herself. No crude ignorances or deficiencies there.—"The sort of thing that makes a person at home and au fait everywhere, and in all companies, and shuts out awkwardnesses and inelegancies.