‘In short,’ said Mr. Devereux, ‘I heard an exaggerated account of all that passed here on the subject the other day. Now, Jane, am I doing you any injustice in thinking that it must have been through you that this history went abroad into the village?’
‘Well,’ said Jane, ‘I am sure you never told us that it was any secret. When a story is openly told to half a dozen people they cannot be expected to keep it to themselves.’
‘I spoke uncharitably and incautiously,’ said he, ‘I am willing to confess, but it is nevertheless my duty to set before you the great matter that this little fire has kindled.’
‘Why, it cannot have done any great harm, can it?’ asked Jane, the agitation of her voice and laugh betraying that she was not quite so careless as she wished to appear. ‘Only the sour Gage will ferment a little.’
‘Oh, Jane! I did not expect that you would treat this matter so lightly.’
‘But tell me, what harm has it done?’ asked she.
‘Do you consider it nothing that the poor child should remain unbaptized, that discord should be brought into the parish, that anger should be on the conscience of your neighbour, that he should be driven from the church?’
‘Is it as bad as that?’ said Jane.
‘We do not yet see the full extent of the mischief our idle words may have done,’ said Mr. Devereux.
‘But it is their own fault, if they will do wrong,’ said Jane; ‘they ought not to be in a rage, we said nothing but the truth.’