“My dear!”
“Her face—Grubby! And she had been crying.”
“But, my dear, what had happened to her? You don't mean—?”
Husband and wife stared at one another aghast. Neither of them said the horrid word that flamed between them.
“Merciful heaven!” said the bishop, and assumed an attitude of despair.
“I didn't know she knew any of them. But it seems it is the second Walshingham girl—Phoebe. It's impossible to trace a girl's thoughts and friends. She persuaded her to go.”
“But did she understand?”
“That's the serious thing,” said Lady Ella.
She seemed to consider whether he could bear the blow.
“She understands all sorts of things. She argues.... I am quite unable to argue with her.”