"No! trust me," answered Robert, and Miss Marchmont hung her head and
blushed.
"It would be a pleasant little _denouement_ when the penitent was a
pretty woman," said Trevalyon laughingly.
"_A propos_ of the confessional, did any of you ever come under the
torture of that modern Inquisition, the 'Confession Book?'" said
Vaura.
"Yes, yes," cried the gentlemen simultaneously.
"Oh! don't denounce them, Miss Vernon," exclaimed Miss Marchmont
pathetically. "I could not exist without mine; it is so interesting to
read aloud from at a picnic, tennis party, or five o'clock tea.
Indeed, my confession book was one of the chief sources of pleasure at
Rose Cottage, wasn't it, mamma?" and she stroked her mother's hand
caressingly.
"It was, Miranda; and Miss Vernon must promise to write down all her
secrets in your book on her return to England; Blanche Tompkins has it
in charge; you will promise to write, Miss Vernon, won't you?" and the
thin lips were pursed into a smile.
"The saints forbid," laughed Vaura, "that I should put the surgical
knife, as it were, to my heart, and lay bare all its latent workings
for the express delectation of five o'clock teas--and women!"
"Oh! do, dear Miss Vernon," said Miss Marchmont coaxingly, "your heart
would be so interesting.
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