Poor Mrs. Tweedie; poor, unfortunate Morning Glories. Now that Barbara must be vindicated, they wanted to pose as martyrs themselves.
"Did Mr. Flint—Will Flint I mean—call on any of you ladies yesterday?" asked Mrs. Thornton, after all had explained, to their own satisfaction, why they had treated Barbara as they had.
An impressive silence followed. Mrs. Stout snickered, despite her determination to hold her peace until the others were talked out.
"Really," began Miss Sawyer, "I must confess that he called on me." Upon that others admitted that they, too, had been honoured.
"What did he say to you, Miss Sawyer?" asked Mrs. Darling, eagerly.
"He said a great deal, and was very much in earnest. He has changed greatly since I last—"
"Yes, indeed he has," interrupted Mrs. Thornton. "He's quite good-looking now."
"And," continued Miss Sawyer, "he spoke of the honour of a woman as being the most sacred thing, and—oh, he said so much in such a short time, and was so gentlemanly, that one could forgive him for saying anything." Miss Sawyer spoke rapidly, and when she had finished was blushing crimson.
"Oh!" exclaimed the ladies in chorus, and then they laughed at Miss Sawyer's discomfiture.
"He did make an impression on you, Miss Sawyer," simpered Mrs. Darling. "And was he as agreeable to you, Mrs. Tweedie?" the shallow young matron asked, meaningly, as she smiled on "the powerful." Mrs. Tweedie looked uncomfortable.