Thus urged, the girls reluctantly descended. Neither was in the habit of concealing her feelings under the convenient cloak of society observance, and both were jealously suspicious of Lydia Orr. Fanny had met her only the week before, walking with Wesley Elliot along the village street. And Mrs. Solomon Black had told Mrs. Fulsom, and Mrs. Fulsom had told Mrs. Deacon Whittle, and Mrs. Whittle had told another woman, who had felt it to be her Christian duty (however unpleasant) to inform Fanny that the minister was “payin’ attention to Miss Orr.” “Of course,” the woman had pointed out, “it wasn’t to be wondered at, special, seeing the Orr girl had every chance in the world to catch him—living right in the same house with him.” Then she had further stated her opinions of men in general for Fanny’s benefit. All persons of the male sex, according to this woman, were easily put upon, deceived and otherwise led astray by artful young women from the city, who were represented as perpetually on the lookout for easy marks, like Wesley Elliot. “He ain’t any different from other men, if he _is_ a minister,” said she with a comprehensive sniff. “They’re all alike, as far as I can find out: anybody that’s a mind to soft-soap them and flatter them into thinkin’ they’re something great can lead them right around by the nose. And besides, _she’s_ got _money!_” Fanny had affected a haughty indifference to the doings of Wesley Elliot, which did not for a moment deceive her keen-eyed informer. “Of course, anybody with eyes in their heads can see what’s taken place,” compassionated she, impaling the unfortunate Fanny on the prongs of her sympathy. “My! I was telling George only yesterday, I thought it was a _perfect shame!_ and somebody ought to speak out real plain to the minister.” Whereat Fanny had been goaded into wishing the woman would mind her own business! She did wish everybody would leave her and her affairs alone! People had no right to talk! As for speaking to the minister; let any one dare—! As for Ellen Dix, she had never quite forgiven Lydia for innocently acquiring the fox skin and she had by now almost persuaded herself that she was passionately in love with Jim Dodge. She had always liked him—at least, she had not actively disliked him, as some of the other girls professed to do. She had found his satirical tongue, his keen eyes and his real or affected indifference to feminine wiles pleasantly stimulating. There was some fun in talking to Jim Dodge. But of late she had not been afforded the opportunity. Fanny had explained to Ellen that Jim was working terribly hard, often rising at three and four in the morning to work on his own farm, and putting in long days at the Bolton place. “She seems to have most of the men in Brookville doing for her,” Ellen had remarked coldly. Then the girls had exchanged cautious glances. “There’s something awfully funny about her coming here, anyway,” said Ellen. “Everybody thinks it’s queer.”