The tones were deeply reproachful.
"I thought—he—had changed," Marjorie stammered.
"No; he will never change, neither shall I"—in accents of certainty. "The Bishop thinks them most unbecoming. How did you learn? I hope that young footman——" She paused, unable to put into words the suspicion she had conjured up.
"We learnt—Mr. Pelham showed us—in the Deanery garden. It isn't difficult."
"I am sorry you didn't think more of your position in Norham before setting such an example. And they cost so much!"
"Mine was a present," murmured Marjorie, unwontedly gentle.
"A present! From Mr. Pelham?"
"It came with Charity's."
"From the Dean. Oh! that is different."
Marjorie's memory went back to the sunshiny afternoon under the chestnuts at the Deanery, when the two new glittering machines—just arrived from the maker—had been brought out to Charity's tea-table.