"Mightn't there?" said Laura. Her little chin was propped in her hand.
Her gaze swept the distant water of the estuary mouth, as it lay
alternately dark and shining under the storm lights of the clouds.

"An I'll juist warn yo o' yan thing, Laura," said Polly, with fresh
energy. "There's soom one at Bannisdale itsel, as spreads aw maks o'
tales. There's a body theer, as is noa friend o' yours."

"Oh! Mrs. Denton," said Laura languidly. "Of course."

Then she fell silent. Not a word passed the small tightened lips. The
eyes were fixed on distance or vacancy.

Polly began to be frightened. She had not meant any real harm, though
perhaps there had been just a touch of malice in her revelations. Laura
was going to marry a Papist; that was bad. But also she was going to
marry into a sphere far out of the Masons' ken; and she had made it very
plain that Hubert and the likes of Hubert were not good enough for her.
Polly was scandalised on religion's account; but also a little jealous
and sore, in a natural feminine way, on her own; the more so as Mr.
Seaton had long since ceased to pay Sunday visits to the farm, and Polly
had a sharp suspicion as to the when and why of that gentleman's
disillusionment. There had been a certain temptation to let the future
mistress of Bannisdale know that the neighbourhood was not all whispering
humbleness towards her.

But at bottom Polly was honest and kind. So when she saw Laura sit so
palely still, she repented her. She implored that Laura would not
"worrit" herself about such fooleries. And then she added: