“I am indeed.”
“Nonsense; you must take an umbrella. It’s going to rain.”
“I have a new sunshade and an old umbrella, Eliza. I feel certain it will be fine.”
“My dear, you know nothing about the English climate. I tell you it will pour cats and dogs.”
“Fiddlesticks, Eliza!”
“Polly,” answered Miss Dwarris, her temper rising, “I wish you to take an umbrella. The barometer is going down, and I have a tingling in my feet, which is a sure sign of wet. It’s very irreligious of you to presume to say what the weather is going to be.”
“I venture to think that meteorologically I am no less acquainted with the ways of Providence than you.”
“That, I think, is not funny, but blasphemous, Polly. In my house I expect people to do as I tell them, and I insist on your taking an umbrella.”
“Don’t be absurd, Eliza!”
Miss Dwarris rang the bell, and when the butler appeared ordered him to fetch her own umbrella for Miss Ley.