'You never will know, Varden, and
nobody at young Mr Willet's age--you'll excuse me, sir--can be expected
to know, what a woman suffers when she is waiting at home under such
circumstances. If you don't believe me, as I know you don't, here's
Miggs, who is only too often a witness of it--ask her.'
'Oh! she were very bad the other night, sir, indeed she were, said
Miggs. 'If you hadn't the sweetness of an angel in you, mim, I don't
think you could abear it, I raly don't.'
'Miggs,' said Mrs Varden, 'you're profane.'
'Begging your pardon, mim,' returned Miggs, with shrill rapidity, 'such
was not my intentions, and such I hope is not my character, though I am
but a servant.'
'Answering me, Miggs, and providing yourself,' retorted her mistress,
looking round with dignity, 'is one and the same thing. How
dare you speak of angels in connection with your sinful
fellow-beings--mere'--said Mrs Varden, glancing at herself in a
neighbouring mirror, and arranging the ribbon of her cap in a more
becoming fashion--'mere worms and grovellers as we are!'
'I did not intend, mim, if you please, to give offence,' said Miggs,
confident in the strength of her compliment, and developing strongly in
the throat as usual, 'and I did not expect it would be took as such.
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