"How awful! Miss Pritchett," repeated Gussie, wondering what it would be like to be an earl's toy, and rather thinking she would enjoy it. "I suppose you'll go to the vicarage just as usual, though,—on parish business, I mean."
This, as the girl expected, provoked a storm, which she patiently endured, certain that she was in a way to gain her ends. At length, the flow of voluble and angry words grew less. Miss Pritchett was enjoying herself too much to risk the girl's non-compliance with her mood.
"There, there," she said eventually, "it's only your ignorance I know, Gussie, but you do aggravate me. You don't understand society. Never shall I set foot in that man's house again!"
Gussie gasped. Her face expressed fervent admiration at such a daring resolve, but slight incredulity as well.
The bait took again. "Never, as I'm a living lady!" said Miss Pritchett, "and I don't know as I shall ever drive up to the church doors in my carriage on a Sunday morning more! Opinions may change. I may have been—I don't say I have been, yet, mind you—I may have been led away by the false glitter of Roman doctrine and goings on."
The idea seemed to please the lady. She saw herself picturesque in such a situation.
Gussie started suddenly.
"What's the matter, child?" she was asked tartly; "do you think no one's got any nerves? Keep still, do!"
"I'm very sorry, Miss Pritchett, but when you said that, I remembered something I was reading last night in the Hornham Observer."
"I was keeping it for Sunday afternoon," said Miss Pritchett. "I did mean to go to morning service and then read Mr. Hamlyn's side of last Sunday's proceedings at home, comfortable like. But what's in the paper?"