Fortunately for Daisy, Dove was out while the packing was going on,
and only Mrs. Dove, with a very black scowl on her face, saw the girls
drive away in a four-wheeler. She refused to say good-bye to them,
and was heard to mutter that the "ongratitude of some folks was past
enduring."
"Here, Dove," she said, when late that night her lord and master came
in, "those pretty young ladies as you thought so much of--'the attics'
I called them, and always will call them--well, they're gone. They had
a four-wheeler, and off they've gone, bag and baggage. For my part I
ain't sorry, for now that them attics are painted up and cleaned,
which they did out of their own money, I may be able to rise my rent.
Those young ladies and I couldn't have kept together much longer.
Disobliging, I call them--disobliging, and shabby, and mistrustful;
it was only this morning I asked Miss Mainwaring for the loan of seven
and sixpence, and she up and said, 'I'm sorry I can't oblige you, Mrs.
Dove.' Those kind of young ladies don't suit me, and I'm thankful
they're gone. Why, Dove, how you do stare!--there's a letter waiting
for you on the table."
Dove took up his letter and read it carefully once or twice; after his
second reading he put it into his pocket, and turned to his wife--
"They've gone round to Miss Egerton's; isn't that so, my love?"
"Who do you mean by 'they,' Dove?"
"The three young ladies, of course.
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