'Oh, Aunt Lydia.'
'All she ever said was that she was ashamed'—Mrs. Heriot was fast losing her temper and her fine feeling for the innocence of her auditor—'ashamed that she "hadn't had the courage to resist"—not the original temptation, but the pressure brought to bear on her "not to go through with it," as she said.'
With a shrinking look the girl wrinkled her brows. 'You are being so delicate—I'm not sure I understand.'
'The only thing you need understand,' said her aunt, irritably, 'is that she's not a desirable companion for a young girl.'
There was a pause.
'When did you see her after—after——'
Mrs. Heriot made a slight grimace. 'I met her last winter at—of all places—the Bishop's!'
'They're relations of hers.'
'Yes. It was while you were in Scotland. They'd got her to help with some of their work. Now she's taken hold of ours. Your aunt and uncle are quite foolish about her, and I'm debarred from taking any steps, at least till the Shelter is out of hand.'
The girl's face was shadowed—even a little frightened. It was evident she was struggling not to give way altogether to alarm and repulsion.