“It’s not fit literature for any young girl,” said Mrs. Heywood severely. She looked again at the flaunting lady with an air of extreme disapproval.
“Disgusting!”
Mollie rattled the tea-things violently.
“It’s good enough for the mistress, anyhow.”
Mrs. Heywood was surprised.
“Surely she did not lend it to you?”
“Well—not exactly,” said Mollie, with just a trace of embarrassment. “I borrowed it. It’s written by her particular friend, Mr. Bradshaw.”
“Mr. Bradshaw! Surely not?”
The old lady wiped her spectacles rather nervously.
“A very nice-spoken gentleman,” said Mollie, “though he does write novels.”