“She has something to be vain about,” retorted Susan. “She is the prettiest girl in Glen St. Mary. Do you think that all those over-harbour MacAllisters and Crawfords and Elliotts could scare up a skin like Rilla’s in four generations? They could not. No, Mrs. Dr. dear, I know my place but I cannot allow you to run down Rilla. Listen to this, Mrs. Marshall Elliott.”
Susan had found a chance to get square with Miss Cornelia for her digs at the children’s love affairs. She read the item with gusto.
“‘Miller Douglas has decided not to go West. He says old P. E. I. is good enough for him and he will continue to farm for his aunt, Mrs. Alec Davis.’”
Susan looked keenly at Miss Cornelia.
“I have heard, Mrs. Marshall Elliott, that Miller is courting Mary Vance.”
This shot pierced Miss Cornelia’s armour. Her sonsy face flushed.
“I won’t have Miller Douglas hanging round Mary,” she said crisply. “He comes of a low family. His father was a sort of outcast from the Douglases—they never really counted him in—and his mother was one of those terrible Dillons from the Harbour Head.”
“I think I have heard, Mrs. Marshall Elliott, that Mary Vance’s own parents were not what you could call aristocratic.”
“Mary Vance has had a good bringing up and she is a smart, clever, capable girl,” retorted Miss Cornelia. “She is not going to throw herself away on Miller Douglas, believe me! She knows my opinion on the matter and Mary has never disobeyed me yet.”
