"He deserved the punishment," she replied, with calmness.
"You do not seem to have thought of his wife!"
"Certainly not. She never gave me offense."
"Is offense the only ground for casting a regard on a fellow-creature?"
"Why should I think of her?"
"Because she was your neighbor, and you were doing her a wrong."
"Once for all, Marston," cried Sepia, overcome at last, "this kind of thing will not do with me. I may not be a saint, but I have honesty enough to know the genuine thing from humbug. You have thrown dust in a good many eyes in this house, but none in mine."
By this time Mary had got her temper quite in hand, taking a lesson from the serpent, who will often keep his when the dove loses hers. She hardly knew what fear was, for she had in her something a little stronger than what generally goes by the name of faith. She was therefore able to see that she ought, if possible, to learn Sepia's object in talking thus to her.
"Why do you say all this to me?" she asked, quietly. "I can not flatter myself it is from friendship."
"Certainly not. But the motive may be worthy, for all that. You are not the only one involved. People who would pass for better than their neighbors will never believe any good purpose in one who does not choose to talk their slang."