“I thought it was some graceless ribaldry,” said Betty then, scornfully. “Eh! what a death-bed there’ll be somewhere, one day! I wouldn’t be there for all the cotton in Castleborough, for all the wealth in Lunnon, for all the fish in the Trent.” And with that, taking up the tray, Betty disappeared, and left them to their dessert, no doubt with much aggravated ideas of Thorsby’s death-bed, which was sure of coming some day. That was her comfort in all Thorsby’s scorns and jibes, as she called them, though she would not have liked to confess it to herself. On the contrary, she often made the pious ejaculation—“God give him grace to see his awful state. It makes one’s flesh creep to think of it. That young man goes on tempting Providence as if there was not a sky above him, and a listening ear in it, that hears and listens on as if nothing had happened, and yet there is another dot gone down in the great Book of Account. God help him; I am glad he is neither kin nor follower of mine.” This she said to Ann Woodburn, who, in the course of the afternoon, told her she thought her quite rude to Mr. Thorsby, who was very lively, but really meant no harm. “No,” said Betty, “he may mean no harm, and yet there may be harm. There are clouds as often hang o’er heads as never see ’em. I’m jealous, Miss, I am, and awfully when I see such a squitter-witted thing as that—a will-o’-the-wisp, as can only lead into a bog, hanging about that precious Miss Letty.” “Miss Letty!” said Ann, looking offended. “Ah! Miss Letty; an angel, too good for any such scapegrace as hasn’t sown even his wild oats—only mere skegs, which are but bastard oats. I’ve eyes, Miss, I have,” said Betty, “if other folks haven’t, as should have. He is clever, I grant you, is that young man; but mark me, Miss Woodburn, he is all fingers and no wrist. He is all pendulum and no clock-weights. He doesna want cleverness, no more nor a monkey, but he wants sober sense, and grace more nor all. I’ve heard of his daubing a poor dumb creature’s face, as if it had fallen, and getting it a terrible beating. Ay, and he’d daub an angel’s face, and ca’ it a devil, if it suited him. He would black the devil’s boots for nothing, while poor Christians were walking barefoot over glass bottles.” “Stop, Betty, cease!” said Ann, with much authority. “Now you are becoming malicious. I cannot permit you to speak in such a manner of any friend of our family. I—and I am sure my parents—expect you to behave with respect to all who come here with our approbation. Again I tell you, Mr. Thorsby means no harm. I wish, indeed, that both he and you, Betty, were more guarded in your expressions; but you are older than he is, Betty, and should set him an example of forbearance.” Betty was silent.