"It doesn't matter, my dear. One never knows where a story of that kind will go to. That's just what girls don't remember."
"Who told a story, and what? I didn't see the Reverend Mother at the dance."
"Laura! But you never thought, my dear—you never knew—that there was a cousin of Father Bowles' there—the man who keeps that little Catholic shop in Market Street. That's what comes, you see, of going to parties with people beneath you."
"Oh! a cousin of Father Bowles was there?" said Laura slowly. "Well, did he make a pretty tale?"
"Laura! you are the most provoking—You don't the least understand what people think. How could you go with him when everybody remonstrated?"
"Nobody remonstrated," said the girl sharply.
"His sister begged you not to go."
"His sister did nothing of the kind. She was staying the night in the village, and there was literally nothing for me to do but come home with Hubert or to throw myself on some stranger."
"And such stories as one hears about this dreadful young man!" cried
Augustina.
"I dare say. There are always stories."