That poor girl, she just worships the
ground you three young ladies walk on."
"Oh, do give our dear love to Poppy," said Primrose tears springing to
her eyes.
Those sudden tears did not escape the notice of fat, good-humored Mrs.
Dredge.
"I hope you're getting on comfortably in every way, dear," she said,
"money matters and all. I had sore worries myself in the money line
until poor Dredge made his fortune in the chandlery business. My dear,
I was almost forgetting to tell you that we've had an affliction at
the Mansion."
"I'm very sorry," began Primrose.
"Yes, dear, and it's an affliction which is likely to continue, and to
grow heavier. It's poor Mrs. Mortlock, dear--I'm afraid she's losing
her sight, and very troublesome she'll be, and a worry to us all when
it's gone, for poor woman, she has a passion for politics that's
almost past bearing. Miss Slowcum and me, we take turns to read her
the papers now, but though our throats ache, and we're as hoarse as
ravens, we don't content her. Mrs. Mortlock is looking out for what
she is pleased to call a 'continual reader,' dear, and what I'm
thinking is that perhaps you or your sister would like to try for the
post--I believe you'd suit her fine, and she can pay well, for she's
fairly made of money.
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