Mrs. Shortman, supporting her thin face in her thin hand, rested her glowing eyes on Gregory.
“I'm afraid she has lost all moral sense,” she said. “Do you know, Mr. Vigil, I'm almost afraid she never had any!”
“What do you mean?”
Mrs. Shortman turned her eyes away.
“I'm sometimes tempted to think,” she said, “that there are such people. I wonder whether we allow enough for that. When I was a girl in the country I remember the daughter of our vicar, a very pretty creature. There were dreadful stories about her, even before she was married, and then we heard she was divorced. She came up to London and earned her own living by playing the piano until she married again. I won't tell you her name, but she is very well known, and nobody has ever seen her show the slightest signs of being ashamed. If there is one woman like that there may be dozens, and I sometimes think we waste——”
Gregory said dryly:
“I have heard you say that before.”
Mrs. Shortman bit her lips.
“I don't think,” she said, “that I grudge my efforts or my time.”
Gregory went quickly up, and took her hand.