“Where—when?” said Vashti.
Temperance was silent, and Nathan, in the manner of those who have greatness thrust upon them, recommenced his parable.
“Oh, poor Len!” said Mabella, wiping her eyes.
“It’s very sad for his people,” said Vashti. “First to be disgraced by him, and then to hear of his death like this—well—he was a bad lot.”
“Oh, Vashti,” said Mabella, passionately, “how can you? And him just dead. His mother’ll be heartbroken.”
“I did not say anything but what everybody knows,” said Vashti, coldly. “He drank, didn’t he? And he broke Mart Didymus’s heart? I thought you were fond of her? It’s true he’s dead, but we’ve all got to die; he should have remembered while he was living that he had to die some day. I don’t believe in making saints of people after they’re dead. Let them live well and they’ll die well, and people will speak well of them.”
“That depends,” said Temperance with a snort. “Some people ain’t given to speak well of their neighbours living or dead.”
“And some people,” said Vashti coolly, “speak too much, and too often always.”
“Hold your peace,” said her father sternly. “Did you say The Body was being brought home?” he asked Nathan.