The old knitter had been rather annoyed to find her confession
interrupted. "A wicked ol' woman I may be," she said with more dignity.
"But I'll never regret givin' that bloody speshul a bit o' me mind this
mornin' when 'e turned saucy to the sugar queue. I ses to 'im----"

"We all have our faults," Lady Arabel's neighbour broke in. "But I
think, at this solemn moment, I may feel thankful that hastiness of
recrimination was never one of mine. All my life I have made it an
unalterable rule never to make a statement without first asking myself:
Is it _TRUE_? Is it _JUST_? Is it _KIND_?"

"You may well say so," replied Lady Arabel pleasantly. "I only wish the
younger generation would follow your example. Nowadays it is much more
likely to be: Is it true? No. Is it just? No. Is it kind? No. Is it
_FUNNY_? Yes. And out it comes."

"Be that as it may," said the ladylike creature. (One could see she was
a Real Lady even through the sheet. Obviously she read the _Morning
Post_ daily.) "Be that as it may, perhaps you can help me in one little
matter which is intriguing me slightly even at this solemn moment. Do
you suppose the sheep will be allowed to hear the trial of the goats, or
will the court be cleared? I must say I should be so interested to hear
the defence of the late churchwarden who eloped with----"

"Ah, please, please," said Lady Arabel, "don't talk in that dretful way.
Don't let your mind dwell on the worst. I assure you that you will be
all right."

"Of course I shall be all right, as you put it," said the elderly lady,
coldly drawing herself up. "Everybody can be my witness that I have kept