The
one before--"
"Excuse me for the interruption," said Mrs. Frump, suddenly, "but I
can't help saying how much Mr. Maltboy looks like Dr. Warts. Doesn't
he, Clemmy?"
"Like Dr. Warts!" exclaimed Miss Whedell. "Who's he?"
"Why, don't you remember, Clemmy, the doctor that you consulted about
your hair?" The widow looked the picture of guilelessness as she asked
the question.
Miss Whedell turned slightly red in parts of her face that were not red
before, and involuntarily raised her hands to two heavy braids of hair
which fronted each ear, and adjusted them. Then she said, sarcastically:
"Mr. Maltboy must feel much flattered at being compared with a notorious
quack."
Mrs. Frump, with a laugh spreading all over her gentle face, replied:
"Oh! of course you call him a quack, because he could not save your--"
"You are rude, madam," said Miss Whedell, with emotion.
"And you are silly, miss," retorted Mrs. Frump, still smiling, "to take
offence at nothing."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, madam."
Greatly to the relief of the three callers, who were seized with a
desire to laugh aloud during this short, snapping dialogue, a bell rang,
and a new figure entered upon the scene.
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