case, surrenders all
claim to her equality with Laetitia's twenty-four years. The advantage
is caught at meanly.

"That's only because you're a baby, dear. Wait till you're ten years
older, and thirty-eight won't seem so old. I suppose your mother's
about that?"

"Mother? Why, she's nearly thirty-nine!"

"And Mr. Fenwick?"

"Oh, _he's_ forty-one. _Quite!_ Because we talked it all over, and made
out they were over eighty between them."

"Who talked it over?"

"Why, him and her and me, of course. Last night."

"Who did you have, Sally dear?"

"Only ourselves, and Dr. Prosy and his Goody mother."

"I thought Mr. Fenwick----"

"I counted him in with us--mother and me and the Major."

"Oh, you counted him in?"

"Why shouldn't I count him in, if I like?"

"Why not? And you do like?" There is an appearance of irritating
sagacity about Sally's friend. "What did Dr. Vereker say, Sally dear?"

"Doc-tor Vereker! Dr. Prosy. Prosy's not a referee--it was no concern
of his! Besides--they'd gone."

"Who'd gone?"

"Dr. Prosy and his old hen of a mother. Well, Tishy dear, she _is_
like that. Comes wobbling down on you as if you were a chicken! I hope
you don't think mother and I and Mr. Fenwick would talk about how old
we were added together, with old Goody Prosy in it!"

"Of course not, dear!"

"Oh, Tishy dear, how aggravating you are! Now do please don't be
penetrating. You know you're trying to get at something; and there's
nothing to get at. It was perfectly natural. Only, of course, we
should never dream of talking about how old before people and their
gossipy old mothers."

"Of course not, dear!"

"There, now! You're being imperturbable! I knew you would. But you may
say what you like--there really was nothing in it. Nothing whatever
that time! However, of course mother does like Mr. Fenwick very
much--everybody knows that."

Laetitia says time will show, and Sally says, "Show what?" For the
remark connects with nothing in the conversation. Its maker does not
reply, but retires into the fastnesses of a higher philosophy, unknown
to the teens, but somehow attainable in the early twenties. She comes
down, however, to ask after Dr. Vereker. Sally has as good as held her
tongue about him. Have they quarrelled?

"My dear Tishy! The idea! A _perfect stranger_!"

"I thought you were such good friends."

"I've nothing against Dr. Vereker. But fancy quarrelling with him!
Like bosom friends. Kissing and mak