“He is perfect,” answered Marion coolly. “The only test for a thoroughbred is the field. He rings true.”
They exchanged carefully impersonal views on Siward's good qualities for a moment or two; then Marion said bluntly: “Do you know anything in particular about that Patroons Club affair?”
“No,” said Sylvia, “nothing in particular.”
“Neither do I; and I don't care to; I mean, that I don't care what he did; and I wish that gossiping old Major would stop trying to hint it to me.”
“My uncle!”
“Oh! I forgot. Beg your pardon, you know, but—”
“I'm not offended,” observed Sylvia, with a shrug of her pretty, bare shoulders.
Marion laughed. “Such a gadabout! Besides, I'm no prude, but he and Leroy Mortimer have no business to talk to unmarried women the way they do. No matter how worldly wise we are, men have no right to suppose we are.”
“Pooh!” shrugged Sylvia. “I have no patience to study out double-entendre, so it never shocks me. Besides—”
She was going to add that she was not at all versed in doubtful worldly wisdom, but decided not to, as it might seem to imply disapproval of Marion's learning. So she went on: “Besides, what have innuendoes to do with Mr. Siward?”