.." or some such words, but only Miss Le Pettit caught
all the muttered syllables, and she never spoke of them, save with a
petulant reluctance to Mr. Constantine when he questioned her
afterwards.
"Girl," said the Mayor sharply, "is it true?'
"Yes," said Loveday.
"True!" cried Cherry, "I know 'tes true. I remember noticing that green
mark on the riband when the wreath was laid on the grave. Ah, she'm a
wicked piece, she is. She tormented my poor Primrose in life and she's
robbed her in death. You aren't safe in your grave from she."
Everyone was speaking against Loveday in rightful indignation by now,
and the good wives expressed the opinion that she should be well
whipped. Loveday turned suddenly to Miss Le Pettit. There were those
there--notably Mr. Constantine, that observant philosopher--who said
afterwards she seemed for one instant to be going to break into
impassioned speech. She did half hold out her hands. The ends of the
white sash, disregarded, fluttered from them as she did so. But Miss
Le Pettit, shocked in all her sensibilities by this vulgar scene,
turned away.
"Surely," said she, "there has been enough time wasted already. Can we
not begin the dance, Mr. Mayor?"
At a sign from the Mayor the band struck up into the tune that was to
echo all day through every head and, perhaps, afterwards, through a few
kindly hearts.
[Illustration: Music]
played the band, and, still whispering together with excitement, the
dancers fell into place.
Pages:
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73