'And she gets worse as she gets older.

I shall never invite her again; it's three times she has made an excuse--all lies, of course.
'Who will _she_ marry ?' asked Beatrice, in a tone of disinterested speculation.
Mrs.Peachey answered with a sneer: 'She's going to the Jubilee to pick up a fancy Prince.' 'As it happens,' objected Fanny, 'she isn't going to the Jubilee at all.
At least she says she isn't.

She's above it--so her brother told me.' 'I know who _wants_ to marry her,' Ada remarked, with a sour smile.
'Who is that ?' came from the others.
'Mr.Crewe.' With a significant giggle, Fanny glanced at the more sober of her sisters; she, the while, touched her upper lip with the point of her tongue, and looked towards the window.
'Does he ?' Fanny asked of the ceiling.
'He wants money to float his teetotal drink,' said Beatrice.

'Hasn't he been at Arthur about it ?' 'Not that I know,' answered the wife.
'He tried to get round me, but I--' A scream of incredulity from Fanny, and a chuckle from Mrs.Peachey, covered the rest of the sentence.

Beatrice gazed at them defiantly.
'Well, idiots! What's up now ?' 'Oh, nothing.' 'There's nobody knows Luckworth Crewe better than I do,' Beatrice pursued disdainfully, 'and I think he knows _me_ pretty well.