“I can soon settle that question of ethics for you,” laughed Sybil, all unsuspicious of what was coming.
“Do just as your conscience directs you, Miss Tabby, no matter how people may look upon you.”
“Very well, then, ma’am; for my conscience do order me to speak! Oh, Miss Sybil! I have knowed you ever since you was a baby in my arms, and I can’t bear to have you so deceived and imposed upon by that there treacherous, ungrateful White Cat!”
“White Cat?” echoed Sybil, in perplexity.
“Yes, Miss Sybil, that red-headed, false-hearted White Cat, as you took into your house and home, for to beguile and corrupt your own true husband!”
With a gasp and a suppressed cry, Sybil sank into her seat.
Miss Tabby, too full of her subject to notice Sybil’s agitation, continued:
“No sooner had your carriage left the door this morning, Miss Sybil, than that there White Cat comes tipping on her tiptoes out of her room, in a long loose dressing-gown, with her hair all down, in a way as no real lady would ever be seen out of her own chamber, and she tips, tips, tips into the drawing-room, where she knows Mr. Berners is alone, and laying on the sofa!”
With a powerful effort Sybil controlled her violent emotion, held herself still, and listened.
“And that was bad enough, Miss Sybil! but that was nothing to what followed!” sighed Miss Tabby, wiping another tear from the end of her nose.