“I was caught in the rain and she asked me in,” I explained, coolly. “Afterwards I liked her so much that I was glad to stay to tea when she asked me. She is a very charming woman.”
Alice looked at me blankly.
“But, Kate, didn’t Lady Naselton tell you about her? Surely you have heard what people say?”
I shrugged my shoulders slightly.
“Lady Naselton told me a good many things,” I answered; “but I do not make a point of believing everything disagreeable which I hear about people. Do you think that charitable yourself?”
My sister’s face hardened. She had all the prejudices of her type, in her case developed before their time. She was the vicar’s daughter, in whose eyes the very breath of scandal was like a devastating wind. Her point of view, and consequently her judgment, seemed to me alike narrow and cruel.
“You forget your position,” she said, with cold indignation. “There are other reports of that woman besides Lady Naselton’s. Depend upon it there is no smoke without fire. It is most indiscreet of you to have had any communication with her.”
“That,” I declared, “is a matter of opinion.”
“I believe that she is not a nice woman,” Alice said, firmly.
“And I shall believe her to be a very nice one until I know the contrary,” I answered. “I know her and you do not, and I can assure you that she is much more interesting than any of the women who have called upon us round here.”