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Now, Britta, cease thy grunting and sighing--'twill spoil
thy face and will not mend the hole in thy grandmother's brain!"
"Wicked, spiteful, ugly old thing!" sobbed Britta; "I'll never, never,
never forgive her!" Then, running to Thelma, she caught her hand and
kissed it affectionately. "Oh, my dear, my dear! To think she should
have cursed you, what dreadful, dreadful wickedness! Oh!" and Britta
looked volumes of wrath. "I could have beaten her black and blue!"
Her vicious eagerness was almost comic--every one laughed, including
Thelma, though she pressed the hand of her little servant very warmly.
"Oh fie!" said Lorimer seriously. "Little girls mustn't whip their
grandmothers; it's specially forbidden in the Prayer-book, isn't it,
Phil?"
"I'm sure I don't know!" replied Errington merrily. "I believe there is
something to the effect that a man may not marry his grandmother--perhaps
that is what you mean?"
"Ah, no doubt!" murmured Lorimer languidly, as, with the others, he
resumed his seat at the supper-table.


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