"I do not understand." In her heart of hearts, however, she told herself that this woman knew of last night's happenings.
Penelope Sim gave a snort and sat down again to sipping her tea.
"Div' ye no understand?" she asked scornfully. "Then I'll tell ye. A lassie that goes tae spend the night wi' a man in a strange hottle is no ane to share an honest woman's home. An' so I'll tell yer faither. Shame upon ye, Marrion Paul!"
"Perhaps you'll oblige me, Mrs. Sim, by holding your tongue," retorted Marrion superbly. "I did not spend the night with any man, and if you say I did, you lie!"
"My certy!" cried Penelope, her face flaming. "So I'm a liar, am I? I tell you I saw you wi' my own eyes at the Cross-keys----"
"And what might you be doing there?" put in Marrion. "No good, likely."
Mrs. Penelope's voice began to rise.
"I'm no goin' to bandy words wi' you, Marrion Paul, ye're no worth it. But here comes your gran'faither; give your lip to him, if ye like. Ye sall no give it to me, a decent, married woman!"
"Decent!" echoed Marrion scornfully, and would have gone on to heaven knows what of indignant criticism had not the entry of her grandfather tied her tongue for she was fond of him, with all his faults, and he represented to her the only family life she had ever known.
So she stood defiant as Penelope of the castle, gloating over her own newly acquired propriety, held forth on what she had seen from the bar-parlour of the Cross-keys.