The puzzled look she had worn fled instantly from her face.
“I’m a generation of vipers.”
She made the announcement with a palpable ring of elation in her tones, looking at him proudly, and as if waiting to hear expressions of astonishment and delight.
“Child, child, who has told you such things? You are not that!”
She retorted, indignantly now, the lines drawing about her eyes in signal of near-by tears:
“I am a generation of vipers—the Bishop said I was—he told that other mamma, and I am it!”
“Well, well, don’t cry—all right—you shall be it—but I can tell you something much nicer.” He assumed a knowing air, as one who withheld knowledge of overwhelming fascinations.
“Tell me—what?”
