"I think its existence is rather limited and precarious, Miss Essie," said Mr. Linden smiling. "It is one of those things that may be said to have a delicate constitution."
"Well," said Miss Essie again, smiling too, both with lips and eyes,—"how could people get along in such a place as Pattaquasset, for instance, without it? People must talk. And it is so pleasant to know that Mrs. Stoutenburgh's son Sam is fifteen years old and had a party on his birthday; and that Mr. Linden and Miss Derrick were there and eat roast turkey;—and to know that Miss Essie de Staff went to New York to get a new carpet for her best room and what the new style is;—and that Miss Faith Derrick was run away with and brought home again, and went through adventures. How could we do without talking of these things? Now perhaps you will say it's immoral; but I'm in favour of a possible morality; and I say, how could Pattaquasset get along without all this?"
"Pattaquasset could get along without some of the things, to start
with," said the Squire. "I don't know what you call 'pleasant,' Miss
Essie, but I never was so angry in my life—since some rascal told me
Mrs. Stoutenburgh was going to marry somebody else," he added laughing.
"But I say," said Miss Essie, "how could Pattaquasset get along without talking of these things? and I ask Mr. Linden. I want to know his opinion."
"I will not say that it could," said Mr. Linden.—"Miss Essie, you know
Pattaquasset better than I do."
"Well do you think there is any harm in talking of them?"
"What do you think of the modern definition of a young lawyer, Miss Essie—'a man who is where he has no business to be, because he has no business where he ought to be'?"
Miss Essie laughed, and laughed.
"Don't Sam get along fast with his reading and writing. Mr.
Stoutenburgh?"
"Always did—" said the Squire; "and with everything else too. What are you talking about? I lost that. I'd gone off to that rascal—"