“I want to speak to you on a very serious matter, my dear Miss Bewery,” she said. “You must allow me to speak plainly on account of—of several things. My—my superiority in—in age, you know, and all that!”
“What's the matter, Mrs. Folliot?” asked Mary, steeling herself against what she felt sure was coming. “Is it—very serious? And—pardon me—is it about what Mr. Folliot mentioned to me this morning? Because if it is, I'm not going to discuss that with you or with anybody!”
“I had no idea that my husband had been here this morning,” answered Mrs. Folliot in genuine surprise. “What did he want to talk about?”
“In that case, what do you want to talk about?” asked Mary. “Though that doesn't mean that I'm going to talk about it with you.”
Mrs. Folliot made an effort to understand this remark, and after inspecting her hostess critically for a moment, proceeded in her most judicial manner.
“You must see, my dear Miss Bewery, that it is highly necessary that some one should use the utmost persuasion on Dr. Ransford,” she said. “He is placing all of you—himself, yourself, your young brother—in most invidious positions by his silence! In society such as—well, such as you get in a cathedral town, you know, no man of reputation can afford to keep silence when his—his character is affected.”
Mary picked up some needlework and began to be much occupied with it.
“Is Dr. Ransford's character affected?” she asked. “I wasn't aware of it, Mrs. Folliot.”
“Oh, my dear, you can't be quite so very—so very, shall we say ingenuous?—as all that!” exclaimed Mrs. Folliot. “These rumours!—of course, they are very wicked and cruel ones, but you know they have spread. Dear me!—why, they have been common talk!”
“I don't think my guardian cares twopence for common talk, Mrs. Folliot,” answered Mary. “And I am quite sure I don't.”