‘Disgusting,’ cried Rosalie, now faintly interested. ‘The idea of talking of a second marriage when your poor husband was only just dead.’ ‘Why, that be the first thing they’d talk on,’ with a kind of dismal triumph—‘more perticlar if a woman be young and good-lookin’. In your own case, mum, I do assure ye they be all a-pickin’ out _your_ second. Ah, that’s what they be a-doin’, but as they all picks different men they don’t so very well agree.’ ‘Mrs. Greene!’ ejaculated her mistress indignantly, wheeling round in her chair, ‘what do you mean? How dare you come and repeat such things to me—it’s positively indecent!’ ‘That be the very remark as I did pass myself to the men yesterday,’ retorted Mrs. Greene, pausing to contemplate Mrs. Fiander with her hands upon her hips. ‘The very thing. “’t is most onbecomin’,” says I, “to be settin’ yourselves up to pry into the affairs o’ your betters. Missus,” says I, “be a-thinkin’ of nothing but her mournin’ so far, and when she do make her ch’ice,” says I, “she’ll please herself and pick out him as is most suitable.” Them was my words, mum.’ ‘Well,’ cried Rosalie, rising to her feet impetuously, ‘I wonder you dare to own them to me, Mrs. Greene. I think that, considering you are a widow yourself, you ought to know better than to accuse another woman of such faithlessness. If you think I could ever, ever forget my good kind husband, you are much mistaken.’ Mrs. Greene coughed drily behind her hand. ‘Why should I marry again any more than you?’ cried Rosalie, with angry tears starting to her eyes. ‘Well, mum, the cases be very different. Nobody never axed I—’t was n’t very likely as they should, considering I had six children and only my own labour to keep ’em. As for you, mum, nobody could n’t think it at all strange if you was to get married again—considerin’ everything, you know. Your station in life,’ continued Mrs. Greene delicately, ‘and your not bein’ blessed with no children, and your fortun’ and your _oncommon_ looks—it ’ud be very strange if there was n’t a-many a-coming coortin’ ye—and you may depend upon it they will,’ she cried with conviction. ‘And seein’ how young you be, mum, and how lonesome like, I should say it be a’most your dooty to take a second.’ ‘Now listen to me, Mrs. Greene,’ said Rosalie very emphatically, ‘I wish to put an end to this foolish gossip at once. You can tell everybody that you hear talking about the matter that I never intend to marry again. Never!—do you hear me?’ ‘Yes, mum,’ returned Mrs. Greene, with every feature and line of her countenance expressing disbelief, ‘I hear. P’r’aps I better begin by lettin’ them two chaps know what called here to-day. I do ’low they’ll be disapp’inted!’