“You don’t say so!” retorted Miss Wren, hitching her chin. “But on whose account?”
“Her own.”
“O Mrs. T. !” exclaimed Miss Wren. “You hear him!”
“To reason with her,” pursued Bradley, half humouring what was present, and half angry with what was not present; “for her own sake.”
“Oh Mrs. T.!” exclaimed the dressmaker.
“For her own sake,” repeated Bradley, warming, “and for her brother’s, and as a perfectly disinterested person.”
“Really, Mrs. T. ,” remarked the dressmaker, “since it comes to this, we must positively turn you with your face to the wall.” She had hardly done so, when Lizzie Hexam arrived, and showed some surprise on seeing Bradley Headstone there, and Jenny shaking her little fist at him close before her eyes, and the Honourable Mrs. T. with her face to the wall.
“Here’s a perfectly disinterested person, Lizzie dear,” said the knowing Miss Wren, “come to talk with you, for your own sake and your brother’s. Think of that. I am sure there ought to be no third party present at anything so very kind and so very serious; and so, if you’ll remove the third party upstairs, my dear, the third party will retire.”
Lizzie took the hand which the dolls’ dressmaker held out to her for the purpose of being supported away, but only looked at her with an inquiring smile, and made no other movement.
“The third party hobbles awfully, you know, when she’s left to herself;” said Miss Wren, “her back being so bad, and her legs so queer; so she can’t retire gracefully unless you help her, Lizzie.”