have been taught the best of manners; it might be well for my pretty to hear how they go on.”
“You dear old Dixon, you don’t know anything about my lecture, and I’m not going to tell you. Only I daresay Mr. Corbet might be a little bit right, though I’m sure he was a great deal wrong.”
“But you’ll not go on a-fretting—you won’t now, there’s a good young lady—for master won’t like it, and it’ll make him uneasy, and he’s enough of trouble without your red eyes, bless them.”
“Trouble—papa, trouble! Oh, Dixon! what do you mean?” exclaimed Ellinor, her face taking all a woman’s intensity of expression in a minute.
“Nay, I know nought,” said Dixon, evasively. “Only that Dunster fellow is not to my mind, and I think he potters the master sadly with his fid-fad ways.”
“I hate Mr. Dunster!” said Ellinor, vehemently. “I won’t speak a word to him the next time he comes to dine with papa.”
“Missy will do what papa likes best,” said Dixon, admonishingly; and with this the pair of “friends” parted.
