"Manners have changed since I was a girl," remarked Miss Diana. "It would scarcely have been deemed seemly then for a young lady to run after a gentleman. I do not like it, Octave."
"Manners do change," returned Miss Chattaway, in tones she made as slighting as she dared. "It was only George Ryle, Aunt Diana."
"Do you know where Maude is?"
"No; I know nothing about her. I think if you gave Maude a word of reprimand instead of giving one to me, it might not be amiss, Aunt Diana. Since Rupert turned runagate—or renegade might be a better word—Maude has shamefully neglected her duties with Emily and Edith. She passes her time in the clouds and lets them run wild."
"Had Rupert been your brother you might have done the same," curtly rejoined Miss Diana. "A shock like that cannot be lived down in a day. Allow me to give you a hint, Octave; should you lose Maude for the children, you will not so efficiently replace her."
"We are not likely to lose her," said Octave, opening her eyes.
"I don't know that. It is possible that we shall. George Ryle wants her."
"Wants her for what?" asked Octave, staring very much.
"He can want her but for one thing—to be his wife. It seems he has loved her for years."
She quitted Octave as she said this, on her way up again to Mrs. Chattaway's room; never halting, never looking back at the still, white face, that seemed to be turning into stone as it was strained after her.