“Didn’t you tell me he was going to turn your chapel into a playhouse?”
“So he said once, but nothing seems to have come of it.”
“More’s the pity,” Miss Gentry surprised Jinny by commenting. She added, “Even a playhouse would do less harm.”
“I—I don’t see that,” Jinny stammered, protesting.
“It’s as clear as daylight. The Devil stamps his sign plainly on a playhouse: he forges God’s name on a chapel. And who is this Miss Jones?”
“I don’t know. I never heard of any girl at Foxearth Farm called Cleopatrick—what a funny name!”
“Cleopatra,” corrected Miss Gentry grandly, her bosom expanding till it strained her Sunday silk. “A great Queen of Egypt in the days of old. Born under Venus and died of the bite of an asp!”
“What’s an asp?” said Jinny.
“It’s what they call the serpent of old Nile!”
“Good gracious!” Jinny exclaimed. “Couldn’t they have given Her Majesty agrimony wine?”