Not even Mrs. Simpson heard a word of this, beyond "dear child."
"But when shall I see you?—I have doubts and difficulties on some points, Mr. Cartwright," said the widow aloud. "How shamefully ignorant—I must call it shamefully ignorant—did poor Mr. Wallace suffer us to remain!—Is it not true, Louisa? Did he ever, through all the years we have known him, utter an awakening word to any of us?"
"No, indeed he never did," replied Miss Louisa, in a sort of penitent whine.
"I am rather surprised to hear you say that, Miss Richards," said Rosalind, drawing her chair a little towards them. "I always understood that Mr. Wallace was one of the most exemplary parish priests in England. Did not your father consider him to be so, Fanny?"
"I—I believe so,—I don't know," replied Fanny, stammering and colouring painfully.
"Not know, Fanny Mowbray!" exclaimed Rosalind;—"not know your father's opinion of Mr. Wallace! That is very singular indeed."
"I mean," said Fanny, struggling to recover her composure, "that I never heard papa's opinion of him as compared with—with any one else."
"I do not believe he would have lost by the comparison," said Rosalind, rising, and walking out of the window.
"Is not that prodigiously rich young lady somewhat of the tiger breed?" said young Cartwright in a whisper to Fanny.
"Miss Torrington is not at all a person of serious notions," replied Fanny; "and till one is subdued by religion, one is often very quarrelsome."