Paul and Isabel laughed heartily; then the latter said: "My aunt had a similar misadventure the other day. She sneaked into a shop in Regent Street to inquire the price of a carpet she had no intention of buying—a mean trick, as I told her, and her sin found her out."
"Why, what happened?" asked Paul.
"She, likewise, tripped on entering, and ran a wild and reckless race the whole length of the shop. Brave young men sprang over the counter to stop her mad career, and even the cashier rushed out of his little square pew to check her rapid flight; but all in vain. She outstripped them all, and lay at last—convulsed with laughter—at the foot of a mirror at the very far end of the shop."
Mrs. Seaton laughed till the tears ran down her face. "It really seems too bad to laugh at such things, but I never can help it; I hope Lady Farley was not hurt."
"Not in the least. But you can picture her shame and humiliation when she had to confess to the crowd of young men collected to pick up her remains, that she had only looked in to inquire the price of a carpet!"
"It was rather dreadful for her!" agreed Mrs. Seaton, still simmering with amusement.
"I wish Mrs. Martin did not sit just before me in chapel!" sighed Joanna.
"Why not?" asked Paul.
"Because there is one white tacking-thread left to sully the glory of her otherwise immaculate Sunday mantle; and that tacking-thread comes between me and my devotions. I am torn between the desire to stretch forth my hand and pluck it out, and my knowledge that Mrs. Martin's tacking-threads are no concern of mine."
"You should try not to look at it, my dear," said Mrs. Seaton.