‘Oh! she’s gone these three months, the more reason that Miss Hilliard is as spry as any of the rest of the young ladies. But now, Master Oliver,’ broke off Sally, putting her head on one side and speaking deprecatingly, almost mincingly, ‘I know as great allowance ought to be made for idle ladies, and that they mun be left for to direct themselves in many ways not open to the commonality, else they’ll fall to pieces like a dry wash-tub, or go all over red rust like a flat-iron laid aside, and be in danger of slipping through their friends’ fingers like Miss Hilliard all but slipped, and gave no end of trouble, the silly thing! Still, Master Oliver, do you think it is proper for ladies, as are none so old or ill-favoured, to go and get rid of their spare time—and all time is to spare with them—a feeling of the pulses and looking at the tongues of sick carters and masons and their families, ay, and of tramps and their brats, a-treating of them to shooken’up pillows and cooling drinks, and as many blisters and draughts as they can set their minds to—save us?’ ‘Well, Sally, at least you’ll allow it is a good chance for the masons and tramps,’ said Oliver with a laugh. ‘I dunno,’ Sally shook her head. ‘I think the world’s turned upside down. But leastways better such folly than that Miss ’Mily Polley’s been up to.’ ‘What has Miss ’Mily been up to?’ ‘Gone and lost her good name, which she’ll never pick up again—not though she were the queen on the throne, with armies and navies to scour the world in search of it, at her word. Now there’s nothing left Miss ’Mily save a patched-up marriage, to cover the disgrace as will not be covered, to a rolling stone of a ne’er-do-well that will bring her to want and misery. Her as was such a pert piece, setting herself up, picking holes in the coats of her betters, and giggling in her light-headedness at this body and that body, as if she herself were a non-such and could go her own road and fear no fall.’ Sally ended with the cruel relish with which the old, who ought to be, and who, let us be thankful, often are, the most charitable, still sometimes, alas! under provocation, contemplate their young neighbours’ receiving their deserts. ‘You must be mistaken, Sally,’ remonstrated Oliver, grieved and shocked. ‘It cannot be as you say. The Polleys have always been most respectable people. Even Polley, though a useless sinner, picked himself up, you know. You must have taken some coarse scandal for gospel. Mrs. Polley has been a good mother, and has looked well after her daughters.’