And the prudent antique pursed up her mouth in a language that said everything.
“What!—what does she say?” demanded a dozen voices.
“Well! I won't tell you that. I won't tell you all; but she does say, among other things, that the sooner John Cross marries them, the better for all parties.”
“Is it possible!”
“Can it be!”
“Bless me! but I always thought something wrong.”
“And Betty, her own maid, told you? Well, who should know, if she don't?”
“And this, too, after all her airs!”
“Her great smartness, her learning, and verse-making! I never knew any good come from books yet.”
“And never will, Jane,” said another, with an equivocal expression, with which Jane was made content; and, after a full half-hour's confabulation, in the primitive style, the parties separated—each, in her way, to give as much circulation to Betty's inuendoes as the importance of the affair deserved.