“But that is not all. These dear Quakers were the worst. They were really sorry, and I had to put on my best manners and listen; and now everybody knows, and you are the talk of the town. Those drab geese must out with the whole naughtiness, despite the company which came in on us, and here were Mr. Montresor and that ape Etherington grinning, and, worst of all, a charming young woman just come to live here with her aunt, and she too must have her say when the Quakers and the men were gone.”
“And what did she say?” I did not care much. “And what is her name?”
“Oh, she said the Quakers were rather outspoken people, and it was a pity, and she was sorry, because she knew you once, and you had taken her part at school.”
“At school?”
“Yes. She is Darthea Peniston, and some kin of that Miss de Lancey, whom Sir William Draper will marry if he can.”
“Darthea Peniston?” I said, and my thoughts went back to the tender little maid who wept when I was punished, and for whom I had revenged myself on Master Dove.
“Quite a Spanish beauty,” said my Aunt Wynne; “a pretty mite of a girl, and not more money than will clothe her, they say; but the men mad about her. Come and see her to-morrow if you are sober.”
“O Aunt Gainor!”
“Yes, sir. I hear Mr. Montresor has leave from Anthony Morris to invite you to ‘The Colony in Schuylkill’ to-morrow. It is well your father has gone to visit Mr. Yeates at Lancaster.”
“I shall behave myself, Aunt Gainer.”