"But you ought to be, my dear friend, you ought to be. The girl seems alone and defenceless. She is reserved with regard to her history, won't make confidences, although I begged of her to confide in me, and assured her that I, in my position, would receive what she chose to tell under the seal of secrecy. Her eyes filled with tears, poor little soul, but her lips were dumb."
"Oh, she has nothing to confide."
"Do you think so? I can't agree with you. Although my lot has been cast in this remote out-of-the-world town, I have had my experiences, Mrs. Bertram, and I never yet saw a face like Miss Hart's which did not conceal a history."
"May I ask you, Mr. Ingram, if you ever before saw a face like Miss Hart's?"
"Well, no, now that you put it to me, I don't think that I ever have. It is beautiful."
"Ugly, you mean."
"No, no, Mrs. Bertram. With all due deference to your superior taste I cannot agree with you. The features are classical, the eyes a little wild and defiant, but capable of much expression. The hair of the admired Rossetti type."
"Oh, spare me, Rector, spare me. I don't mean this low girl's outward appearance. It is that which I feel is within which makes her altogether ugly to me."
"Ah, poor child—women have intuitions, and you may be right. It would of course not be judicious for your daughters to associate with Miss Hart. But you, Mrs. Bertram, you, as a mother, might get at this poor child's past, and counsel her as to her future."
"She has gone away, has she not?" asked Mrs. Bertram.