"That's not exactly the point, dear Mary," said Miss Stiles. "The point is, surely, that an elephant straight from the desert ate our best Archdeacon's best hat in the High Street. You must admit that that's a laughable circumstance in this the sixtieth year of our good Queen's reign. I, for one, intend to laugh."
"No, you don't, Ellen," and, to every one's surprise, Mrs. Combermere's voice was serious. "I mean what I say. I'm not joking at all. Brandon may have his faults, but this town and everything decent in it hangs by him. Take him away and the place drops to pieces. I suppose you think you're going to introduce your Ronders as up-to-date rivals. We prefer things as they are, thank you."
Miss Stiles' already bright colouring was a little brighter. She knew her Betsy Combermere, but she resented rebukes before Puddifoot.
"Then," she said, "if he means all that to the place, he'd better look after his son more efficiently."
"And exactly what do you mean by that?" asked Mrs. Combermere.
"Oh, everybody knows," said Miss Stiles, looking round to Miss Dobell and the doctor for support, "that young Brandon is spending the whole of his time down in Seatown, and that Miss Annie Hogg is not entirely unconnected with his visits."
"Really, Ellen," said Mrs. Combermere, bringing her fist down upon the table, "you're a disgusting woman. Yes, you are, and I won't take it back, however much you ask me to. All the worst scandal in this place comes from you. If it weren't for you we shouldn't be so exactly like every novelist's Cathedral town. But I warn you, I won't have you talking about Brandon. His son's only a boy, and the handsomest male in the place by the way--present company, of course, excepted. He's only been home a few months, and you're after him already with your stories. I won't have it----"
Miss Stiles rose, her fingers trembling as she drew on her gloves.
"Well, I won't stay here to be insulted, anyway. You may have known me a number of years, Betsy, but that doesn't allow you all the privileges. The only matter with me is that I say what I think. You started the business, I believe, by insulting my friends."
"Sit down, Ellen," said Mrs. Combermere, laughing. "Don't be a fool. Who's insulting your friends? You'd insult them yourself if they were only successful enough. You can have your Ronder."