Carlisle, choking over the inflammatory draught, set the silver top down
on the bureau. There was a gratifying absence of cynicism in her manner.
She was always, as her mother knew, a serious girl at heart. She had to
drink nearly half a glass of water before she could dislodge all the
brandy from her larynx.

"Oh, mamma--how can I remember just exactly what I did? Please be
reasonable. I was too excited and frightened, suddenly plunged into the
water, to think what I was doing. The point--"

"You must have cried out. Of course you screamed for his assistance. And
the young blaggard ... What time is it? Five o'clock? Then Willie's
train is already in ..."

The spoken thought brought a full stop to the good lady's ejaculations,
shot her mind in dead silence round a corner. She stopped walking, stood
intently still. After all, what so serious had happened? Her daughter
was, indeed, the talk of the place, which was an exceedingly undesirable
thing; especially since an "exclusive" girl's name is so tender a bloom,
and Mr. Canning was very probably downstairs listening to it now--the
talk, that is. But, after all, young Dalhousie's dissolute misbehaviors
were so well known, nobody could possibly ...

"They can hardly say anything to reflect upon _you_," the mother summed
up aloud, frowning intently. "You have been foolish, most indiscreet.
How you ever permitted anybody to introduce such a character to you
passes my understanding. However--any attractive girl is likely to draw
the attacks of ruffianly men. His conduct surpass--"