Miss Mary shook her head. "If I were a friend of the young lady, I should worry very much. Maria Spencer called on us yesterday, and told us a most unpleasant story about her. She spent the night at an inn with this same young man that she smoked with here. Oh, an accident, of course; but—"
"Miss Spencer is the town scavenger," Weston said, angrily.
Miss Mary did not notice the interruption. "I cannot help remarking that I do not think that such a young woman would make any man happy." ("It was difficult to bring the remark in," she told her sister, afterward; "but I felt it my duty.")
"The man who gets Fred will be a lucky fellow," her cousin declared.
"You know her very well, I infer," Miss Mary murmured. "I observe you use her first name."
"Oh, very well! And I knew her father before her. But the use of the first name is one of the new customs. Everybody calls everybody else by their first name. Queer custom."
"Very queer," said Miss Mary.
"Very sensible!" said Miss Eliza.
"Ah, well, we must just accept the fact that girls are not brought up as they were when—when we were young"—Arthur Weston paused, but no one corrected that "we." He sighed, and went on: "The tide of new ideas is sweeping away a lot of the old landmarks; myself, I think it is better for some of them to go. For instance, the freedom nowadays in the relations of boys and girls makes for a straightforwardness that is rather fine."
"Well," said Miss Mary, "I don't like what you call 'new ideas.' 'New' things shock me very much."