"Should you like to?"
"Should if it's good," returned Miss Wren.
"You shall try. Put your little feet on the fender. It's a cold, cold
night, and the fog clings so." As Miss Abbey helped her to turn her
chair, her loosened bonnet fell on the floor. "Why, what lovely hair!"
cried Miss Abbey. "And enough to make wigs: for all the dolls in the
world. What a quantity!"
"Call _that_ a quantity?" returned Miss Wren. "_Poof_! What do you say
to the rest of it?" As she spoke, she untied a band, and the golden
stream fell over herself, and over the chair, and flowed down to the
ground. Miss Abbey's admiration seemed to increase her perplexity. She
beckoned the Jew towards her, and whispered:
"Child or woman?"
"Child in years," was the answer; "woman in self-reliance and trial."
"You are talking about me, good people," thought Miss Jenny, sitting in
her golden bower, warming her feet. "I can't hear what you say, but I
know your tricks and your manners!"
The shrub, mixed by Miss Potterson's skilful hands, was perfectly
satisfactory to Miss Jenny's palate, and she sat and sipped it leisurely
while the interview between Mr. Riah and Miss Potterson proceeded,
keenly regretting when the bottom of the glass was reached, and the
interview at an end.
There was at this time much curiosity among Lizzie Hexam's acquaintances
to discover her hiding-place, and many of them paid visits to the dolls'
dressmaker in hopes of obtaining from her the desired address.
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