“I know,” he replied, “but it was not my fault leaving you like that. I had to go. You will know everything to-morrow—when you hear all you will very likely never speak to me again—though I am innocent enough, Lord knows.”
Then came Venetia’s voice:
“This is new—Heaven knows we have had disgrace enough—what else is going to fall on us?—Why put it off till to-morrow—what new thing have you done?”
Before Jones could reply, the warm hearted bundle in the corner ceased sniffing and turned on Venetia.
“No matter what he has done, you are his sister and you have no right to accuse him.”
“Accuse him!” cried the outraged Venetia.
“Yes, accuse him; you don’t say it, but you feel it. I believe you’d be glad in some wicked way if he had done anything really terrible.”
Venetia made a noise like the sound emitted by a choking hen.
Teresa had put her finger on the spot.
Venetia was not a wicked woman, she was something nearly as bad, a Righteous woman, one of the Ever-judges. The finding out of other people’s sins gave her pleasure.