She was just turning away, when she heard herself called by
name, and from amid a crowd of women clustering round one of Mr.
Love’s bric-a-brac stalls, there came towards her, together, Mrs.
Fringe and Mrs. Wotnot.
Vennie was extremely surprised to find these two ladies,—by no
means particularly friendly as a rule,—thus joined in partnership of
dissipation, but she supposed the influence of a circus, like the
influence of religion, has a dissolvent effect upon human animosity.
That these excellent women should have preferred the circus,
however, to the rival entertainment in the churchyard, did strike her
mind as extraordinary. She did not know that they had, as a matter
of fact, “eaten their pot of honey” at the one, before proceeding,
post-haste, to enjoy the other.
“May we walk with you, miss, a step?” supplicated Mrs. Fringe, as
Vennie indicated her intention of moving on, as soon as their
salutations were over.
“Thank you, you are very kind, Mrs. Fringe. Perhaps,—a little way,
but I’m rather busy this morning.”
“Oh we shan’t trouble you long,” murmured Mrs. Wotnot, “It’s
only,—well, Mrs. Fringe, here, had better speak.”
Thus it came about that Vennie began her advance up the
Yeoborough road supported by the two housekeepers, the lean one
on the left of her, and the fat one on the right of her.
“Will I tell her, or will you tell her?” murmured the plump lady
sweetly, when they were clear of the village.
Mrs. Wotnot made a curious grimace and clasped and unclasped
her hands.
“Better you; much, much better, that it should be you,” she
remarked.
“But ’twas thy tale, dearie; ’twas thy tale and surprisin’
discoverin’s,” protested Mrs. Fringe.