“You saw them, then,” Miss McPherson continued, addressing herself to Mrs. Jerrold, “You saw Archie, and his wife and Bessie.  What is Archie like?  I never saw him, but I have his wife.  She was the daughter of a milliner, or dressmaker, or ballet-dancer, from Wales, in the vicinity of Bangor, or Carnarvon, I believe.”

“Carnarvon!” Hannah repeated quickly, while a sudden pallor came to her lips and forehead, but no one noticed it, and Geraldine hesitated a little, uncertain as to how far she dared to tell the truth and not give offense.

But she was soon relieved from all uneasiness on that score, by Miss McPherson, who, noticing her hesitancy, said: 

“Don’t be afraid to tell me exactly as it is, for were Archie ten times my nephew, I would rather hear the whole truth just as Grey told it of Neil.  So, then, what did you think of Archie?  I have an idea he is a good-natured, good for nothing, shiftless fellow, who never earned a penny in his life, and who gets his living from any one who will give it to him.”

She spoke with a great asperity of manner, and then waited for Geraldine, who replied: 

“You have stated the case in much stronger language than I should have done, but in the main I believe you are right.  Mr. Archibald McPherson is one whom you could not possibly mistake for other than a gentleman.  He is courteous, and kind, and agreeable, but very indolent, I should say, for he never stands when he can sit, and never sits when he can recline; indeed, his position is always a lounging one, and he impressed me as if he were afraid of falling to pieces if he exerted himself.”

“Just so, that is what I thought,” Miss Betsey said, emphatically.  “He takes it from his father, rather than his mother.  She, I believe, had some energy and snap She was a chorus singer in some opera, and I did not like the match, though I now believe she was too good for Hugh.  And now for Archie’s wife, Daisy they call her.  What of her?”

Mrs. Jerrold evidently had no scruples about freeing her mind with regard to Daisy McPherson, and she answered, promptly: 

“I did not like her at all, neither did Lady Jane, and I tried my best to keep aloof from her, but could not; she is pushing and aggressive and sweetly unconscious that she is not wanted.  And yet she is exceedingly pretty, with that innocent kind of face and childish, appealing way which women detest, but which takes with the men,” and Mrs. Geraldine glanced sharply at her husband, who was just then very busy with his pudding, and pretended not to hear her, while she went on:  “She has some accomplishments, speaks French and German, I believe, perfectly, sings simple ballads tolerably well, but rolls her eyes frightfully, and is so conscious of herself that she disgusts you.  I should call her a regular Becky Sharp, always managing to get the best of everything, and, as she told me herself, always having on her list two or three invitations for as many weeks, to as many different places.”