"Him is Mr. Preston. And that must be true; because I missed her
from my side when I wanted to ask her if she thought blue would look
green by candlelight, as the young man said it would, and she had run
across the street, and Mrs. Goodenough was just going into the shop,
just as she said she was."
Miss Browning's distress was overcoming her anger; so she only said,
"Phoebe, I think you'll drive me mad. Do tell me what you heard
from Mrs. Dawes in a sensible and coherent manner, for once in your
life."
"I'm sure I'm trying with all my might to tell you everything just as
it happened."
"What did you hear from Mrs. Dawes?"
"Why, that Molly and Mr. Preston were keeping company just as if she
was a maid-servant and he was a gardener: meeting at all sorts of
improper times and places, and fainting away in his arms, and out at
night together, and writing to each other, and slipping their letters
into each other's hands; and that was what I was talking about,
sister, for I next door to saw that done once. I saw her with my own
eyes run across the street to Grinstead's, where he was, for we had
just left him there; with a letter in her hand, too, which was not
there when she came back all fluttered and blushing. But I never
thought anything of it at the time; but now all the town is talking
about it, and crying shame, and saying they ought to be married."
Miss Phoebe sank into sobbing again; but was suddenly roused by a
good box on her ear. Miss Browning was standing over her almost
trembling with passion.
"Phoebe, if ever I hear you say such things again, I'll turn you
out of the house that minute."
"I only said what Mrs. Dawes said, and you asked me what it was,"
replied Miss Phoebe, humbly and meekly. "Dorothy, you should not
have done that."
"Never mind whether I should or I shouldn't. That's not the matter
in hand. What I've got to decide is, how to put a stop to all these
lies."
"But, Dorothy, they are not all lies--if you will call them so; I'm
afraid some things are true; though I stuck to their being false when
Mrs. Dawes told me of them."
"If I go to Mrs. Dawes, and she repeats them to me, I shall slap her
face or box her ears I'm afraid, for I couldn't stand tales being
told of poor Mary's daughter, as if they were just a stirring piece
of news like James Horrocks' pig with two heads," said Miss Browning,
meditating aloud. "That would do harm instead of good. Phoebe, I'm
really sorry I boxed your ears, only I should do it again if you said
the same things." Phoebe sate down by her sister, and took hold of
one of her withered hands, and began caressing it, which was her way
of accepting her sister's expression of regret. "If I speak to Molly,
the child will deny it, if she's half as good-for-nothing as they
say; and if she's not, she'll only worry herself to death. No, that
won't do. Mrs. Goodenough--but she's a donkey; and if I convinced
her, she could never convince any one else. No; Mrs. Dawes, who told
you, shall tell me, and I'll tie my hands together inside my muff,
and bind myself over to keep the peace. And when I've heard what is
to be heard, I'll put the matter into Mr. Gibson's hands. That's what
I'll do. So it's no use your saying anything against it, Phoebe,
for I shan't attend to you."