The birdlike little hostess, confused by the misapplied praise, remonstrated. "'Tis Mrs. Brown," cried she, "who bears the palm."
Here the younger ladies, to whom nature had kindly given the saving sense of humour, laughed a little—not too obviously—in concert with the man thus lauded.
Then they all fell to talking upon the latest news that Chellaston could afford, which was, that a gentleman, a minister from the south of Maine, had arrived, and by various explanations had identified the old preacher who had been called Cameron as his father. It seemed that the old man had long ago partially lost his wits—senses and brain having been impaired through an accident—but this son had always succeeded in keeping him in a quiet neighbourhood where his condition was understood, until, in the beginning of the previous winter, the poor wanderer had escaped the vigilance of his friends. It was partly on account of the false name which had been given him that they had failed to trace him until the circumstances of his tragic death were advertised.
"The son is culpable. Mad people should be shut up where they can do no mischief." About half the ladies present joined in this comment.
Mrs. Rexford looked round uneasily to see that her young daughter Winifred had not joined the party. Indiscreet usually, she was wonderfully tender in these days of Winifred.
"I am not sure that if he had been my father I would have shut him up."
Trenholme spoke and sighed.
"If he had been my father," Sophia cried vehemently, "I would have gone with him from village to village and door to door; I would rather have begged my bread than kept him from preaching. I would have told the people he was a little mad, but not much, and saner than any of them."
There was enough sympathy with Sophia's vivacity among her friends to make it easy to express herself naturally.
"What is one false opinion more or less?" she cried. "Do any of us imagine that our opinions are just those held in heaven? This old man had all his treasure in heaven, and that is, after all, the best security that heart or mind will not go far astray."
The youngest Miss Brown was sitting on the fur rugs, not very far from Trenholme. She looked up at him, pretty herself in the prettiness of genuine admiration.