“‘Miss Prior—to be called for.’ Whose trunks are these?” says Lovel, coming from the city. The dowagers drove up at the same moment.
“Didn’t you see us from the omnibus, Frederick?” cries her ladyship, coaxingly. “We followed behind you all the way!”
“We were in the barouche, my dear,” remarks Mrs. Bonnington, rather nervously.
“Whose trunks are these?—what’s the matter?—and what’s the girl crying for?” asks Lovel.
“Miss Prior is a-going away,” sobs Pinhorn.
“Miss Prior going? Is this your doing, my Lady Baker?—or yours, mother?” the master of the house says, sternly.
“She is going, my love, because she cannot stay in this family,” says mamma.
“That woman is no fit companion for my angel’s children, Frederick!” cries Lady B.
“That person has deceived us all, my love!” says mamma.
“Deceived?—how? Deceived whom?” continues Mr. Lovel, more and more hotly.