“I have really a good mind to be angry with you,” said Belle, giving Mrs. Petulengro a peculiar glance.

“Do allow her to arrange your hair,” said I, “she means no harm, and wishes to do you honour; do oblige her and me too, for I should like to see how your hair would look dressed in her fashion.”

“You hear what the young rye says?” said Mrs. Petulengro.  “I am sure you will oblige the young rye, if not myself.  Many people would be willing to oblige the young rye, if he would but ask them; but he is not in the habit of asking favours.  He has a nose of his own, which he keeps tolerably exalted; he does not think small-beer of himself, madam; and all the time I have been with him, I never heard him ask a favour before; therefore, madam, I am sure you will oblige him.  My sister Ursula would be very willing to oblige him in many things, but he will not ask for anything, except for such a favour as a word, which is a poor favour after all.  I don’t mean for her word; perhaps he will some day ask you for your word.  If so . . .”

“Why here you are, after railing at me for catching at words, catching at a word yourself,” said Mr. Petulengro.

“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Mrs. Petulengro.  “Don’t interrupt me in my discourse; if I caught at a word now, I am not in the habit of doing so.  I am no conceited body; no newspaper Neddy; no pothouse witty person.  I was about to say, madam, that if the young rye asks you at any time for your word, you will do as you deem convenient; but I am sure you will oblige him by allowing me to braid your hair.”

“I shall not do it to oblige him,” said Belle; “the young rye, as you call him, is nothing to me.”

“Well, then, to oblige me,” said Mrs. Petulengro; “do allow me to become your poor tire-woman.”

“It is great nonsense,” said Belle, reddening; “however, as you came to see me, and ask the matter as a particular favour to yourself . . .”

“Thank you, madam,” said Mrs. Petulengro, leading Belle to the stool; “please to sit down here.  Thank you; your hair is very beautiful, madam,” she continued as she proceeded to braid Belle’s hair; “so is your countenance.  Should you ever go to the great city, among the grand folks, you would make a sensation, madam.  I have made one myself, who am dark; the chi she is kauley, which last word signifies black, which I am not, though rather dark.  There’s no colour like white, madam; it’s so lasting, so genteel.  Gentility will carry the day, madam, even with the young rye.  He will ask words of the black lass, but beg the word of the fair.”

In the meantime Mr. Petulengro and myself entered into conversation.  “Any news stirring, Mr. Petulengro?” said I.  “Have you heard anything of the great religious movements?”