Mrs. Agar was silent, awaiting a second question.
“And why should you be sorry to believe that?” inquired the girl.
“I—I hardly like to tell you,” said Mrs. Agar, in a low voice.
Dora waited in silence, without appearing to heed Mrs. Agar's reluctance.
“I am afraid, dear,” went on the elder lady, when she saw that there was no chance of assistance, “that we have been all sadly mistaken in Jem. He was not—all that we thought him.”
“In what way?” asked Dora. She had turned quite white, and her lips were suddenly dry and parched. She held her parasol a little lower, so that Mrs. Agar could not see her face. She was sure enough of her voice. She had had practice in that.
“In what way was Jem not all that we thought him?” she repeated evenly, like a lesson learnt by heart.
Mrs. Agar stammered. She tried to blush, but she could not manage that.
“I cannot very well give you details. Perhaps, when you are older. You know, dear, in India people are not very particular. They have peculiar ideas, I mean, of morals—different from ours. And perhaps he saw no harm in it.”
“In what?” inquired Dora gravely.