"It's different nowadays," said Mrs. Mead, with condescending reserve. "You don't understand, Father, but nothing is like it used to be. The world is getting all changed. When Emily was an only child, she was looked upon as very odd, but most women have an only child nowadays. Life is quite different."
"I'd like to see Emily married," said Mr. Cattermole, thoughtfully.
"Emily has had plenty of chances," said her mother, waving the brave, tattered mother-lie that seems to cover over such cruel wounds.
"Has she really?" said Mr. Cattermole, in genuine surprise. "I didn't know that. And she wouldn't have 'em! Laws sakes! Who, for instance?"
"No one you knew," said his daughter, telling the truth then.
"Sarah knew 'em, I suppose?" (Sarah was Mrs. Cowmull.)
"No, no one Sarah knew."
"Think of that now! Why, I s'posed there wasn't nothing Sarah didn't know."
In voicing this opinion Mr. Cattermole voiced the town opinion, too. It was popularly supposed that Sarah Cowmull always knew everything. But she didn't know the status of Lorenzo Rath's heart, and Lorenzo Rath himself puzzled her not a little.
Lorenzo puzzled everybody, mainly because he was so open and simple that even a child must have suspected him of keeping something back. Such frankness was unthinkable, such innocence incredible.