“It’s to be hoped you were not,” retorted Miss Corny.  “She is an idle, insolent, vain fagot, caring for nothing but her own doll’s face and for Archibald.”

“Ah, well, ma’am never mind that; pretty young girls know they are pretty, and you can’t take their vanity from them.  She’ll be a good and loving wife to him; I know she will; it is in her nature; she won’t serve him as—­as—­that other poor unfortunate did.”

“If I feared she was one to bring shame to him, as the other did, I’d go into the church this hour and forbid the marriage; and if that didn’t do, I’d—­smother her!” shrieked Miss Carlyle.  “Look at that piece of impudence!”

That last sentence was uttered in a different tone, and concerned somebody in the street.  Miss Carlyle hopped off her chair and strode to the window.  Mr. Dill’s eyes turned in the like direction.

In a gay and summer’s dress, fine and sparkling, with a coquettish little bonnet, trimmed with pink, shaded by one of those nondescript articles at present called veils, which article was made of white spotted net with a pink ruche round it, sailed Afy Hallijohn, conceited and foolish and good-looking as ever.  Catching sight of Mr. Dill, she made him a flourishing and gracious bow.  The courteous old gentleman returned it, and was pounced upon by Miss Corny’s tongue for his pains.

“Whatever possessed you to do that?”

“Well, Miss Corny, she spoke to me.  You saw her.”

“I saw her?  Yes, I did see her, the brazen bellwether!  And she saw me, and spoke to you in her insolence.  And you must answer her, in spite of my presence, instead of shaking your fist and giving her a reproving frown.  You want a little sharp talking to, yourself.”

“But, Miss Corny, it’s always best to let bygones be bygones,” he pleaded.  “She was flighty and foolish, and all that, was Afy; but now that it’s proved she did not go with Richard Hare, as was suspected, and is at present living creditably, why should she not be noticed?”

“If the very deuce himself stood there with his horns and tail, you would find excuses to make for him,” fired Miss Corny.  “You are as bad as Archibald!  Notice Afy Hallijohn, when she dresses and flirts and minces as you saw her but now!  What creditable servant would flaunt abroad in such a dress and bonnet as that, with that flimsy gauze thing over her face.  It’s as disreputable as your shirt-front.”

Mr. Dill coughed humbly, not wishing to renew the point of the shirt-front.  “She is not exactly a servant, Miss Corny, she’s a lady’s maid; and ladies’ maids do dress outrageously fine.  I had great respect for her father, ma’am; never a better clerk came into our office.”

“Perhaps you’ll tell me you have a respect for her!  The world’s being turned upside down, I think.  Formerly, mistresses kept their servants to work; now it seems they keep them for play!  She’s going to St. Jude’s, you may be sure of it, to stare at this fine wedding, instead of being at home, in a cotton gown and white apron, making beds.  Mrs. Latimer must be a droll mistress, to give her liberty in this way.  What’s that fly for?” sharply added Miss Corny, as one drew up to the office door.