"I asked: Were you laughing at something?"
"Yes, I was!" And she laughed again. "It's that funny, fat old Mrs.
Johnson. She has a habit of sitting at her bedroom window with a pair
of opera-glasses."
"Really!"
"Really. You can see the window through the place that was left when
we had the dead walnut tree cut down. She looks up and down the
street, but mostly at father's and over here. Sometimes she forgets
to put out the light in her room, and there she is, spying away for
all the world to see!"
However, Fanny made no effort to observe this spectacle, but continued
her creaking. "I've always thought her a very good woman," she said
primly.
"So she is," Isabel agreed. "She's a good, friendly old thing, a
little too intimate in her manner, sometimes, and if her poor old
opera-glasses afford her the quiet happiness of knowing what sort of
young man our new cook is walking out with, I'm the last to begrudge
it to her! Don't you want to come and look at her, George?"
"What? I beg your pardon.
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