It was characteristic of her that, as she undressed, carefully laying her clothes aside, her concern was for George's moral welfare rather than for the safety of the person for whom he had mistaken her, and this was because she happened to know George, had known him nearly all her life, while the identity of the other was a blank to her, because she had no peculiar feeling for her sex; men and women were separated or united only by their claim on her.
Mildred Caniper, whose claim was great, came down to breakfast the next morning with a return of energy that gladdened Helen and set Miriam thinking swiftly of all the things she had left undone. But Mildred Caniper was fair, and where she no longer ruled, she would not criticize. She condescended, however, to ask one question.
"Who was on the moor last night?"
"Daniel," Helen said.
"Zebedee," said Miriam.
"Zebedee?" she said, pretending not to know to whom that name belonged.
"Dr. Mackenzie."
"Oh."
"The father of James and John," Miriam murmured.
"So he has children?" Mrs. Caniper went on with her superb assumption that no one joked in conversation with her.