She was somewhat afraid of the elder lady. Even though her brother Charles said he feared she was worldly, Miss Glover could not fail to respect a woman who had lived in London and on the continent, who had met Dean Farrar and seen Miss Marie Corelli.
“Of course,” she said, “Bertha is young, and naturally high spirited.”
“Well, I’m sure, I hope she’ll be happy.”
“You must be very anxious about her future, Miss Ley.” Miss Glover found her hostess’s observations simply cryptic, and, feeling foolish, blushed a fiery red.
“Not at all; she’s her own mistress, and as able-bodied and as reasonably-minded as most young women. But, of course, it’s a great risk.”
“I’m very sorry, Miss Ley,” said the vicar’s sister, in such distress as to give her friend certain qualms of conscience, “but I really don’t understand. What is a great risk?”
“Matrimony, my dear.”
“Is Bertha going to be married? Oh, dear Miss Ley, let me congratulate you. How happy and proud you must be!”
“My dear Miss Glover, please keep calm. And if you want to congratulate anybody, congratulate Bertha—not me.”
“But I’m so glad, Miss Ley. To think of dear Bertha getting married; Charles will be so pleased.”