“Oh, no,” she said. “We came in for a moment to admire your lovely irises at closer range; we’re just passing on our way to some friends in Waverley Place.”
“We’d be so glad——” Bella fluttered.
“No, no, no,” Mrs. Sullender murmured caressingly. “We’ve only a moment—I’m so sorry you disturbed your husband—we’re just going over for bridge. I suppose you know most of the people in Waverley Place?”
“No, I don’t think I know any.”
“Well, of course we don’t think it compares to Highland Place,” Mrs. Sullender said, with a little deprecatory laugh. “I’m afraid it’s rather—well, gossipy.”
“Oh——” Bella said. “Is it?”
“I’m afraid so,” the gentle-mannered lady returned. “Of course that’s a great pity, too, in such a new little community where people are bound to be thrown together a great deal. Don’t you think it’s a great pity, Mrs. Sperry?”
“Oh—naturally,” Bella acquiesced. “Yes, indeed.”
“I knew you would. Of course it’s just thoughtlessness—most of the people who live there are so young—but we heard a really dreadful story only yesterday. It came from a very young newly-married couple, and my husband and I were so sorry to hear they’d started out by telling such dreadful things about their neighbours. Don’t you think it’s most unwise, Mrs. Sperry?”
Mrs. Sullender’s voice, wholly unruffled, and as indomitably tender as ever, gave no intimation that she spoke with a peculiar significance; but William Sperry was profoundly alarmed, and, with a sympathy that held no triumph in it, he knew that Bella was in a similar or worse condition.