The tone was so decided, the manner so peculiar, that Edith was startled in spite of herself. Before she could make any remark, her aunt continued—
“Sit down and listen to me. I mean to talk to you, for no one has a better right; and if I can put a stop to your folly, I will. Do you know the whole place is talking of you—that it has been talking of you for months? Yes, Edith, it is the truth; and I am bound to say you yourself are the very person to blame.”
Almost mechanically, Edith took off her hat and threw it on the table. Then she looked eagerly at her aunt.
“What do they say about me?” she cried.
“They say you are making a fool of yourself; but that is not all. They say worse—horrible things. Of course I know they are untrue, for you were always a good girl; but you are sometimes so indiscreet. When a young girl is always in the company of a young man, even a clergyman, and nothing comes of it, people will talk. Take my advice, dear, and put an end to it at once!”
Edith smiled—a curious, far-off, bitter smile. She was not surprised at her aunts warning; for she had expected it a long time, and had been rather surprised that it had not come before.
“Put an end to what?” she said quietly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know well enough, Edith.”
“Indeed I do not. If people talk, that is their affair; but I shall do as I please.”
And she took up her hat again, as if to go.