“Then she is a scandalous old harridan, whoever she is,” cried Mrs Burnett with great warmth. “And what do you know about such matters?”
“I know it pains me to hear that my dear sister’s name is mentioned freely at the officers’ mess, and made a common toast.”
“Oh, indeed, madam; and pray what about yours? Who is talked of at every gathering, and married to everyone in turn?”
“I know nothing of those things,” said Claire coldly.
“Ah, well, all right; but, I say, when’s it to be, Claire? Don’t fribble away this season. I hear of two good opportunities for you; and—oh, I say, Claire, they do tell me that a certain gentleman said—a certain very high personage—that you were—”
“Shame, sister!” cried Claire, starting up as if she had been stung. “How can you—how dare you, speak to me like that?”
“Hoity-toity! What’s the matter, child?”
“Child!” cried Claire indignantly. “Do you forget that you have always been as a child to me—my chief care ever since our mother died? Oh, May, May, darling, this is not like you. Pray—pray be more guarded in what you say. There, dearest, I am not angry; but this light and frivolous manner distresses me. You are Frank Burnett’s honoured wife—girl yet, I know; but your marriage lifts you at once to a position amongst women, and these light, flippant ways sit so ill upon one like you.”
“Oh, pooh! stuff! you silly, particular old frump!” cried May sharply. “Do you suppose that a married woman is going to be like a weak, prudish girl? There, there, there; I did not come to quarrel, and I won’t be scolded. I say, they tell me that handsome Major Rockley is likely to throw himself away on Cora Dean.”
“Oh, May, May, my darling!”