Miss Polly Popple’s case was clear, but Miss Smithson’s reasons for disliking Pamela were perhaps more abstruse. She talked big of the claims of friendship, of her sympathy for Miss Popple, and also of a “rising within her,” which with her was an infallible sign of “something fishy” in somebody else. But the truth was that the new-comer’s radiant youth, her success, her spirit of enterprise, had started the base passion of envy in Miss Smithson’s withered breast; a passion the more prejudicial that it flourishes entirely outside the pale of reason! She listened very greedily, therefore, to Miss Popple’s rapid exposition of her suspicions. Between gossip, malice, and inventiveness, the new head milliner’s character seemed indeed in a parlous condition when Miss Popple concluded. That wheezing breath of Miss Smithson’s was drawn with ever-increased intensity. “Walking with the young gentleman late of an evening in the Green Park! Upon my word! If it had been you that had seen her last night, now, Miss Popple dear, instead of that poor foundling of a Mary Jane, which Madame Mirabel was saying only yesterday could scarce be trusted to match a skein of blue silk, I’d go to Madame Mirabel this minute with it, I would, being so to speak, a cousin----” “Beware what you does, Miss Smithson, you’ll ruin all. Give her rope.” “Rope, Miss Popple?” “Rope to hang herself with,” said Miss Popple vindictively. “That’s in a manner of speaking. Plain, she’ll give herself away or he’ll give her away,” she had an ill-natured giggle, “so as we give them time. It’s his game to give her away, a devil-may-care hand, some young buck who only wants to have her at his mercy, just for his fun. Wasn’t he after her here--open--three afternoons out of last week?” “After her here?” Miss Smithson again repeated her friend’s last words. She was exceedingly shocked. “Why, mercy to goodness,” she went on in horrified tones: “Ain’t it the rule of the house? No male belongings is allowed after the young ladies here if they were grandfathers itself. And they churchwardens.” “Oh, tush, Smithson,” interrupted Polly contemptuously. “Of course my sly young beau comes dangling in with some lady friend, to help her to choose a hat--_by way of_--” Polly winked. “Toosday, it was Mrs. Lafone as brought him, or, to be correct, he brought her, which, knowing the minx as I do--I refers here to Mrs. Lafone--’tis my intimate conviction ’tis he will pay for that there hat! But, as you knows, Miss Smithson, and none better, ladies’ morals ain’t our concern, thanks be, so long as we keeps our own respectable.” Miss Smithson admitted this regrettable truth with a doleful sigh. Polly took another pull at the brew of hot spiced beer which they had concocted for their comfort this cold December night, and proceeded: