“What a scandal,” said the vicaress, with ill-concealed satisfaction, “if the affair comes to light!”
“As it must,” said Mrs. Marjoy, viciously; “and young Strong coming forward as our member, too! Nice sort of legislator to frame laws for the country’s good. Is it generally known yet?”
“My goodness! no,” quoth Mrs. Mince; “only Mrs. Primmer and ourselves are in the secret, so far as I can tell. The question is, what is to be done.”
The mind of this most moral trinity waxed meditative over the problem.
“I think Ophelia ought to be communicated with,” said the vicaress, after reasonable cogitation.
“Certainly,” observed the doctor’s wife, creaking to and fro in her chair.
“A matter of duty,” added Mrs. Mince.
“And charity,” said Miss Snodley, looking over the rims of her gold pince-nez.
They were all vastly serious over the business, exceedingly solemn, infinitely in earnest. The undercurrent of hypocrisy in their ethics did not seem to suggest itself to their minds. They were about to enjoy a triumph over a feminine autocrat, a woman disliked by reason of the superior comeliness of her person.
“Ophelia Strong must be warned,” said the vicaress, speaking as the most religious woman in Saltire.