Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said. F. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. To have sprung this upon them to-night would have been worth a thousand pounds. Prudence was the substance and Angelina the shadow; for Angelina never offered opinions, she only agreed with those advanced by Prudence. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” It was as much an accusation as a question.
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