Deb wrinkled a disdainful nose.

"It is no use, Moll; you would not come near it in fifty tries. I'll
tell you--Claud Dalzell."

"What--the deadly enemy!" This time Mrs Goldsworthy did laugh. Deb
joined in.

"Funny, isn't it? I feel"--sarcastically--"like going into fits
myself when I think of it, it is so screamingly absurd. And how it
happened I can't tell you, unless it is that we are fallen into our
dotage. I suppose it must be that."

"You in your dotage!" Mary mocked, with an affectionate sincerity that
was grateful to her sister's ear. "You are the youngest of us all, and
always will be. Do you ever look at yourself in the glass? Upright as a
dart, and your pretty wavy hair--so thick, and scarcely a grey thread
in it! Of course, I don't know how it may be with him; I have not seen
him for such ages--"

"Oh, he is a perfect badger for greyness--not that I ever saw a
badger, by the way. And he walks with a stick, and has dreadful chronic
things the matter with him, from eating and drinking too much all his
life, and never taking enough exercise. Quite the old man, I should
have called him a few months ago. But he is better now."

Mrs Goldsworthy gave a little shudder, and her unsympathetic gravity
returned.