Mrs. Beattie was a quiet, wise, mellow kind of woman. "He's so young," she suggested.
Her sister cheerfully agreed. "Of course, a mere baby! That's why I can be friends with him. He's so utterly friendless. He needs a kind word from somebody."
"But don't you rather go out of your way to give it to him?" asked Mrs. Beattie very softly.
"Sister! How can you say such a thing?" said Miss Mackall in shocked tones. "A mere child like that—one would think—— Oh, how can you?"
Mrs. Beattie let the matter drop with a little sigh. She had not been home in fifteen years, and she found her elder sister much changed and difficult to understand. Somehow their positions had been reversed.
Later, at the table, Miss Mackall suggested with an off-hand air that the friendless young teamster might be asked to supper. Gilbert Beattie looked up quickly.
"This is the company house," he said in his grim way, "and we are, so to speak, public people. We must not give any occasion for silly gossip."
"Gossip?" echoed Miss Mackall, raising her eyebrows. "I don't understand you."
"Pardon me," said Beattie. "I think you do. Remember," he added with a grim twinkle, "the trader's sister must be like Cæsar's wife, above suspicion."
Miss Mackall tossed her head and finished her meal in silence. Persons of a romantic temperament really enjoy a little tyranny. It made her seem young and interesting to herself.