Charles became sullenly silent; Guy stood thoughtful; and Laura and Amabel could not easily sustain the conversation till the visitors took their leave.
‘Here’s a pother!’ grumbled Charles, as soon as they were gone.
‘I beg your pardon for spoiling your story,’ said Guy; but it was my fault, so I was obliged to interfere.’
‘Bosh!’ said Charles. ‘Who cares whether she smoked one or twenty? She is Mrs. Brownlow still.’
The point is, what was truth?’ said Laura.
‘Straining at gnats,’ said Charles.
‘Little wings?’ said Guy, glancing at Amabel.
‘Have it your won way,’ said Charles, throwing his head back; ‘they must be little souls, indeed that stick at such trash.’
Guy’s brows were contracted with vexation, but Laura looked up very prettily, saying—
‘Never mind him. We must all honour you for doing such an unpleasant thing.’