"But tell me," continued Trevalyon, "confess, reverent Father, dost thou at confession bestow the gentle kiss of reconciliation?"
"You should not disclose the secrets of the confessional, Robert," said Lady Esmondet, coming to his aid.
"No! trust me," answered Robert, and Miss Marchmont hung her head and blushed.
"It would be a pleasant little denouement when the penitent was a pretty woman," said Trevalyon laughingly.
"A propos of the confessional, did any of you ever come under the torture of that modern Inquisition, the 'Confession Book?'" said Vaura.
"Yes, yes," cried the gentlemen simultaneously.
"Oh! don't denounce them, Miss Vernon," exclaimed Miss Marchmont pathetically. "I could not exist without mine; it is so interesting to read aloud from at a picnic, tennis party, or five o'clock tea. Indeed, my confession book was one of the chief sources of pleasure at Rose Cottage, wasn't it, mamma?" and she stroked her mother's hand caressingly.
"It was, Miranda; and Miss Vernon must promise to write down all her secrets in your book on her return to England; Blanche Tompkins has it in charge; you will promise to write, Miss Vernon, won't you?" and the thin lips were pursed into a smile.
"The saints forbid," laughed Vaura, "that I should put the surgical knife, as it were, to my heart, and lay bare all its latent workings for the express delectation of five o'clock teas—and women!"
"Oh! do, dear Miss Vernon," said Miss Marchmont coaxingly, "your heart would be so interesting."