“Remember, that I have only been here a week or two,” I remarked; “certainly not long enough to have mastered the annals of the neighborhood. I have not asked any one before. No one has ever mentioned her name. Is there really anything worth hearing?”
Lady Naselton looked down and brushed some crumbs from her lap with a delicately gloved hand. She was evidently an epicure in story-telling. She was trying to make it last out as long as possible.
“Well, my dear girl, I should not like to tell you all that people say,” she began, slowly. “At the same time, as you are a stranger to the neighborhood, and, of course, know nothing about anybody, it is only my duty to put you on your guard. I do not know the particulars myself. I have never inquired. But she is not considered to be at all a proper person. There is something very dubious about her record.”
“How deliciously vague!” I remarked, with involuntary irony. “Don’t you know anything more definite?”
“I find no pleasure in inquiring into such matters,” Lady Naselton replied a little stiffly. “The opinion of those who are better able to judge is sufficient for me.”
“One must inquire, or one cannot, or should not, judge,” I said. “I suppose that there’s something which she does, or does not, do?”
“It is something connected with her past life, I believe,” Lady Naselton remarked.
“Her past life? Isn’t it supposed to be rather interesting nowadays to have a past?”
I began to doubt whether, after all, I was going to be much of a favorite with Lady Naselton. She set her tea cup down, and looked at me with distinct disapproval in her face.