THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It seems to me so wicked: painting God’s work.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. We mustn’t judge hardly, dear. Besides, dear, we don’t know yet that she does.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Perhaps she’s young, and hasn’t commenced it. I fancy it’s only the older ones that do it.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. He didn’t mention her age, I remember.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. No, dear, but I feel she’s young.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I do hope she is. We may be able to mould her.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. We must be very sympathetic. One can accomplish so much with sympathy.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. We must get to understand her. [A sudden thought.] Perhaps, dear, we may get to like her.
THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [doubtful]. We might try, dear.
THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. For Vernon’s sake. The poor boy seems so much in love with her. We must—