fess that cousin Agnes had staged some show; the town was talking about it from Lake Forest to Indiana, and the rich, racy gossips were only beginning to get around, too.
Of course, Bennet said, the dear newspapers had faithfully done their bit; but as cousin Agnes's oration had been entirely informal—no court actions yet started, no one legally indicted—the papers couldn't repeat a tenth of what they really wanted to without laying themselves open to libel actions. It was breaking the hearts of the sob-squads and the society reporters but never mind; only the bourgeoisie was being deprived; every one who was anybody knew all that had happened and more too.
Ethel read two sheets of this and skipped a third before she began finding out what cousin Agnes had actually done and where she had made her oration. On the next pages, however, Bennet reported with creditable completeness "Marc Anthony's address over the body of Ceasar"—as Bennet called it; and he added such comments and interpolations as:
"And after this, to show that the family was still running true to form, she said a little piece about the murder of Quinlan . . . then, in order to buck up the good name and general reputation of the Cullens, she spilled a little about aunt Cecilia and uncle Hilaire. She made it official, absolutely, that he had come into our family only for money; he'd been in love with Agnes. In fact, he'd married her; or made her think he had; uncle Hilaire had been her husband first and is the father of her son, your friend, Loutrelle—"
The letter blurred in Ethel's hand, and things spun about her. Barney—her Barney—not her father's son; cousin Agnes's, yes; and Hiļaire de Chenal's!
