On the other hand young Thornton, eldest son of Squire Thornton of
Thornton Beeches, in the neighbourhood of Wancote, gave out that to see
Mistress Betty at her best, was to see her in the hunting-field, for she
rode like a bird, and was bright and ready as a pike-staff! There was a
confusion of metaphor, but words always failed the young fellow when he
spoke of the lady who had already three times refused to be his wife.
Then Dr. Glebe, the good doctor of Wancote, in a grey bag-wig and
hunting-boots, would take a whole handful of snuff, while he swore that
Mistress Betty was only at her best by a sick-bed.
The parson laughed, and exclaimed with a tear in his eye that such a
woman as his daughter was always at her best in whatever she put her
hand to do; and the old groom Isaac assented with a chuckle, vowing that
his young lady was good all round.
The autumn was beginning, and the crimson creepers on church and wall
were at the height of their glow. Betty Ives was strolling in the
parsonage garden gathering plums from the wall.
The garden-door was on the latch, it needed but to raise it, and
Mistress Mary Jones walked in. Betty went eagerly forward to meet her
with out-stretched hands. No welcome could be more cordial than that
which Betty Ives gave to her friends.
"I am so glad to see you, Mary? and are you well? Have you lost your
headache?"
Miss Mary sank into a garden-seat and sighed, still retaining the hand
of her friend.
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