“I don’t care—I don’t care what she’s done. She is a sweet woman, and I love her all the more for having to be preached to by that old cat.”
And then she noticed that she and her companion were standing rather near an open window, and she walked quickly back to the lawn and the elm trees.
“What old cat?”
“Didn’t you see her? A tall woman with a face carved in marble. She was driving away as you came back.”
“I didn’t see much of her. Do you know who she is?”
“No. She’s a ‘ladyship,’ from what the maid said. And she looks like one, which ladyships hardly ever do. That’s all I know.”
“A relation of Mrs. Dale’s, I suppose?”
“Ye-e-s, I suppose so, from the things she said. But oh! Mrs. Dale has never done anything to deserve such a relation as that!”
“Poor thing! No. But one can’t help feeling curious.”
“I can help it,” cried Mabin stoutly. “I know how these spiteful old women make mountains out of molehills, and I will never believe that it isn’t a molehill in this case after all.”