She dropped her trumpet, held Miss Hallet's hand in hers, and turned to depart. That ruffled lady, after escorting her to the door, turned the key and shot the bolt, as if she wanted to have no more to do with the outer world, and would fain deny it entrance.
"Oh ma'am, what a sight o' news is this!" broke forth staring Nancy Gleason, meeting the Grey Lady face to face at a sudden turning of the cliff path, and lifting her two hands in reprobation.
It was the first instalment of the public unpleasantness: an unpleasantness that must perforce arise, and could only be met. Of no use for Sister Mildred to say "What do you mean?" or "Jane Hallet is nothing to you." The miserable news had gone flying about the village from end to end: it could neither be arrested nor the comments on it checked.
"I can't stay talking this morning, Nancy Gleeson," replied the deaf lady; who guessed, more than heard, what the theme must be. "You had better go home to your little ones; they may be setting themselves on fire again."
"'Twarn't so over long ago she was a lugging our Bessy up the path, and she looked fit to drop over it; all her breath gone, and her face the colour o' chalk," continued Nancy, disregarding the injunction. "Seemed to me, ma'am, then as if 'twas odd. Well, who'd ever ha' thought it o' Miss Jane Hallet?"
Sister Mildred was yards away, and Nancy Gleeson's words were wasted on the air. At the foot of the cliff, as she was crossing the road, Mrs. Bent saw her from the inn door, and came over with a solemn face.
"How is she doing?" asked the landlady, speaking close to Sister Mildred's ear.
"Pretty well."
"I shall never be surprised at anything after this, ma'am; never: When Molly, all agape, brought the news in this morning, I could have sent a plate at her head, for repeating what I thought was nothing but impossible scandal. Miss Hallet must be fit to hang herself."
"It is a sad, grievous thing for all parties, Mrs. Bent," spoke Sister Mildred. "Especially for Jane herself."