"You know, we women are curious, my dear. I should like to ask you something."
Mary was gripping the chair again. What now?
Aunt Caroline leaned forward and lowered her voice.
"Is it really true—what they say about her daughter?"
The candidate for social secretary somehow felt that the bottom was dropping out of things. What ought she to say? What could she say? And what was it that anybody said about Mrs. Rokeby-Jones's daughter?
"I mean the older daughter," added Aunt Caroline.
So there were two. Mary was staring down at her lap, frowning in bewilderment. How would she find Mrs. Rokeby-Jones's elder daughter—guilty or not guilty? If she only knew what people said about her. Probably it had been in the newspapers. Oh, why hadn't she seen it?
"I admit I merely ask from curiosity," said Aunt Caroline, yet hopefully.
Mary looked up and made her decision. Even the meanest prisoner at the bar was entitled to the benefit of a doubt. Why not Mrs. Rokeby-Jones's daughter?
"Personally, I have never believed it," said Mary.