or at that time all Dissenters were considered
dangerous characters, and Quakers the worst of all. But, recognising it
as one of Molly's flights of intellect, she smiled placidly, and said no
more.

"My dear, I think you will be acquainted with Mrs Eleanor Darcy?" asked
Madam, addressing herself to Gatty.

"She has visited my mother, but only once," answered Gatty.

"Oh, the pootsy-bootsy!" broke in Molly. "Isn't she a sweet, charming,
handsome creature?--the precious dear!"

"I fear she doth not please you, Mrs Molly?" asked Madam, interpreting
Molly's exclamation by the rule of contrary.

"She's the ugliest old baboon that ever grinned!" was Molly's
complimentary reply.

"What say you, Mrs Gatty?"

"She is certainly not handsome," answered Gatty, apparently with some
reluctance; "but I have heard her well spoken of, as very kind and
good."

"Have you met with Mr Welles, her nephew, my dear?"

Molly had clasped her hands, leaned back, lifted her eyes with an
expression of sentimental rapture, and was executing an effective
_tableau vivant_.

"Yes, I have seen him two or three times," said Gatty.

"Is he a young man of an agreeable turn?" inquired Madam.

"He is very handsome," replied Gatty, rather doubtfully, as if she
hardly knew what to say.

"Pleasant as a companion?" pursued Madam.

"People generally think so, I believe," answered Gatty, with studied
vagueness.

"You dear old concatenation, you'll get nothing out of my wretch of a
sister," impetuously cried Molly.

"I'll tell you all about Marcus. He's the brightest eyes that ever
shone, and the sweetest voice that praised your fine eyes, and the most
delightful manners! White hands, and a capital leg, and never treads on
your corns. Oh, there's nobody like him. I mean to marry him."

"Molly!" said Gatty. It was the first time she had offered anything
like a reproof to her sister.

"Now, you hold your tongue, Mrs Prude!" responded Molly. "You're not a
bit better than I am."

Gatty made no reply.

"Don't you set up to be either a prig or a saint!" continued Molly,
angrily. "Betty's enough. She isn't a saint; but she's a prig. If
ever you're either, I'll lead you a life!"

And there could be little doubt of Molly's fulfilling her threat.

The next day, Gatty and Molly Delawarr went home. Betty had quite
recovered, and was gone to stay with a friend near Bristol; the house
had been thoroughly disinfected, and was pronounced f