Miss Tribbey sniffed. The sniff expressed scorn, but it was wrongly applied by at least two of her hearers.
Miss Tribbey had no delusions about Vashti, and she knew the girl was doing all she could to irritate her father against her cousin.
“M’bella’s young and foolish,” said Temperance grimly, but with apologetic intent in her voice.
Vashti gave her a venomous side glance and sighed again.
“It’s the French grandmother coming out in her. Gee! It takes ages to kill a taint, and then every now and then it crops out,” said old Lansing.
“Yes,” said Vashti, “that’s what Mrs. Smilie said. ‘It’s the French in her,’ she said.” The moment Vashti uttered this she bit her lips angrily, for a swift change passed over her father’s face, and she knew she had made a mistake.
“She did, did she?” roared old Lansing, purpling with rage. “She did? The idea of these mongrel Smilies setting up their tongues about the Lansings. Lord! I mind well her father drove about the country collecting ashes for a soap factory. She ain’t fit to black Mabella’s shoes—that woman. What did she do when she quarrelled with Mrs. Parr? Went and threw kittens down her well, and they most all died before they found out ’twas the water. She’ll talk about the Lansings, will she——”
Old Lansing rarely began to gossip, but, when once fairly started, the revelations he made were rather startling. He continued until they reached home.
Lanty and Mabella walked side by side up and down the wide sandy path from the front door to the garden gate. A look of deep and grave happiness shone upon their faces; both were looking at their future from the same standpoint. There was a hint of timorousness upon the girl’s face, an occasional tremor of her sweet mouth, which told that all terrors were not banished from the Unknown, into whose realms the man at her side was to lead her; but hallowing her face there was that divine trust which transfigured the Maid Mary into the Madonna.