the verandah before the front door, she came plump upon a bevy of young
ladies, all as pretty as you please in muslin frocks and great summer hats
to shield their complexions: whereof one, a little older than the rest
(but pretty, notwithstanding), stepped forward and inquired, in a
foreign-speaking voice, for Dr. Clatworthy.

"But he is in retard then!" this lady cried, when Susannah answered that,
although she knew Dr. Clatworthy well, not a fur or feather of him had she
seen that day (which was her way of putting it). "Ah, but how vexing!
And Miss St. Maur was positive he would be beforehand!"

"Lor' bless you, my pretty!" said Susannah, "If the doctor promised to be
here, you may be sure he will be here."

She went on to explain, as she had explained to the officers, that she was
alone on the premises--her mistress had been called away upon sudden
business--but if they would take the ups with the downs. . . . Then, her
curiosity overcoming her--for, of course, she had heard gossip of the
doctor's intentions--"And which of you," she asked, "is he going to marry,
making so bold?"

"If Dr. Clatworthy is so ungallant--" began Miss Sophia, jabbing with the
point of her parasol at a crevice in the flagstones of the verandah.

"Fie, dear!" cried Ma'amselle Julie, interrupting.

"Well, at any rate, the mazzards are ripe," said Miss Sophia, "and I see
no fun in waiting."

"So _that's_ the maid," said Susannah to herself, and pitied her--having
herself no great admiration for Dr. Clatworthy, in spite of his riches:
but she assured them that the doctor--the most punctual of men--would
certainly arrive within a few minutes. And the mazzards were crying out
to be eaten. If the young ladies would make free of the orchards while
she fit and boiled the kettle . . .

"The fun of it is," said Miss Sophia to Ma'amselle Julie ten minutes
later, as they were staining their pretty lips with the juice of the black
mazzards, "that if Dr. Clatworthy doesn't appear--"

"But he will, dear."

"The fun of it is that we haven't, I believe, eighteenpence between us
all."

"Miss St. Maur was positive that he would be punctual," said Ma'amselle
Julie.

"But he isn't, you see: and--oh, my dear, is it so wicked?--you can't
think how I wish he would never come--never, never, never!"

"Sophia!"

"Even," went on Miss Sophia, nodding her head, "if I've eaten all these
cherries under false pretences, and have to go to prison for it!"