My father, too, had half risen. He made a movement as though to hurry from the room, but with an effort he restrained himself. The effect of her appearance upon him was very evident to me. His under lip was twitching, and his long, white fingers were nervously interlaced. Alice, bland and unseeing, glanced carelessly out of the window. “It is our mysterious neighbor from the Yellow House,” she remarked. “If a tithe of what people say about her is true we ought to rejoice that she is going away. It is a pity she is not leaving for good.” My father opened his lips as though about to speak. He changed his mind, however, and left the room. The burden of her defence remained with me. “If I were you I would not take any notice of what people say about her,” I remarked. “In all probability you will only hear a pack of lies. I had tea with her yesterday afternoon, and she seemed to me to be a very well-bred and distinguished woman.” Alice looked at me with wide-open eyes, and an expression almost of horror in her face. “Do you mean to say that you have been to see her, that you have been inside her house, Kate?” she cried. I nodded. “I was caught in the rain and she asked me in,” I explained, coolly. “Afterwards I liked her so much that I was glad to stay to tea when she asked me. She is a very charming woman.” Alice looked at me blankly. “But, Kate, didn’t Lady Naselton tell you about her? Surely you have heard what people say?” I shrugged my shoulders slightly. “Lady Naselton told me a good many things,” I answered; “but I do not make a point of believing everything disagreeable which I hear about people. Do you think that charitable yourself?” My sister’s face hardened. She had all the prejudices of her type, in her case developed before their time. She was the vicar’s daughter, in whose eyes the very breath of scandal was like a devastating wind. Her point of view, and consequently her judgment, seemed to me alike narrow and cruel. “You forget your position,” she said, with cold indignation. “There are other reports of that woman besides Lady Naselton’s. Depend upon it there is no smoke without fire. It is most indiscreet of you to have had any communication with her.” “That,” I declared, “is a matter of opinion.” “I believe that she is not a nice woman,” Alice said, firmly. “And I shall believe her to be a very nice one until I know the contrary,” I answered. “I know her and you do not, and I can assure you that she is much more interesting than any of the women who have called upon us round here.” Alice was getting angry with me. “You prefer an interesting woman to a good one,” she said, warmly. “Without going quite so far as that, I certainly think that it is unfortunate that most of the good women whom one meets are so uninteresting,” I answered. “Goodness seems so satisfying--in the case of repletion. I mean--it doesn’t seem to leave room for anything else.”