Here Mrs. Duncombe stood on the step, crying out, “Well, Cecil, how have you sped with Mrs. Bungay?”

“Horrid woman!” and no more was heard, as Cecil entered Mr. Pettitt’s establishment.

“That might be echoed,” said Tom, who was boiling over at the speech to his sister.  “I knew that ape was an intolerable little prig of a peacock, but I didn’t think she could be such a brute to you, Rosie!  Is she often like that, and does your parson stand such treatment of you?”

“Nonsense, Tom!” said Rosamond; “it doesn’t often happen, and breaks no bones when it does.  It’s only the ignorance of the woman, and small blame to her—­as Mrs. M’Kinnon said when Corporal Sims’s wife threw the red herring’s tail at her!”

“But does Julius stand it?” repeated Tom, fiercely, as if hesitating whether to call out Julius or Mrs. Charnock Poynsett.

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Tom!  I’d rather stand a whole shower of red herrings’ tails at once than bother Julius about his brother’s wife.  How would you and Terry like it, if your wives took to squabbling, and setting you together by the ears?  I was demented enough to try it once, but I soon saw it was worse than anything.”

“What?  He took her part?”

“No such thing!  Hold your tongue, Tommy, and don’t talk of married folk till you’re one yourself!”

“Papa never meant it,” repeated the indignant Tom.  “I’ve a great mind to write and tell him how you are served!”

“Now, Tom,” cried Rosamond, stopping short, “if you do that, I solemnly declare I’ll never have you here again!  What could papa do?  Do you think he could cure Raymond’s wife of being a ridiculous little prig?  And if he could—­why, before your letter got to Meerut, she will be gone up to London; and by the time she comes back we’ll be safe in our own Rectory.  Here, come in, and get our string and basket at Mrs. Bungay’s.”

“I’ll pay her out!” muttered Tom, as he followed his sister into Mrs. Bungay’s shop, one of much smaller pretensions, for the sale of baskets, brushes, mats, &c.

The mistress, a stout, red-faced woman, looked as if she had been ‘speaking a bit of her mind,’ and was at first very gruff and ungracious, until she found they were real customers; and moreover, Tom’s bland Irish courtesy perfectly disarmed her, when Rosamond, having fixed her mind on a box in the very topmost pigeon-hole, they not only apologized for the trouble they were giving, but Tom offered to climb up and bring it down, when she was calling for the errand-boy in vain.

“It’s no trouble, sir, thank you; I’d think nothing of that for you, my lady, nor for Mr. Charnock—­which I’m sure I’ll never forget all he did for us at the fire, leading my little Alferd out like a lamb!  I beg your ladyship’s pardon, ma’am, if I seemed a bit hasty; but I’ve been so put about—­and I thought at first you’d come in on the same matter, which I’m sure a lady like you wouldn’t ever do—­about the drains, and such like, which isn’t fit for no lady to speak of!  As if Water Lane weren’t as sweet and clean as it has any call to be, and as if we didn’t know what was right by our tenants, which are a bad lot, and don’t merit no money to be laid out on them!”