She was always an odd girl--something about her I could never endure--a sort of effrontery--that is, perhaps, a harsh word, but a kind of assurance--an air of confidence--so that though I kept on a footing with her, because she was an orphan girl of good family, and because I really knew nothing positively bad of her, yet she sometimes absolutely shocked me." "Your ladyship, perhaps, would not think it right to give publicity to the story?
at least, till you know exactly what it is," said the Earl, in a tone of suggestion.
"Depend upon it, that it is quite the worst, the very worst--You heard the woman say that she had exposed Clara to ruin--and you know she must have meant Clara Mowbray, because she was so anxious to tell the story to her brother, St.Ronan's." "Very true--I did not think of that," answered Lord Etherington; "still it would be hard on the poor girl if it should get abroad." "O, it will never get abroad for me," said Lady Penelope; "I would not tell the very wind of it.

But then I cannot meet Miss Mowbray as formerly--I have a station in life to maintain, my lord--and I am under the necessity of being select in my society--it is a duty I owe the public, if it were even not my own inclination." "Certainly, my Lady Penelope," said Lord Etherington; "but then consider, that, in a place where all eyes are necessarily observant of your ladyship's behaviour, the least coldness on your part to Miss Mowbray--and, after all, we have nothing like assurance of any thing being wrong there--would ruin her with the company here, and with the world at large." "Oh! my lord," answered Lady Penelope, "as for the truth of the story, I have some private reasons of my own for 'holding the strange tale devoutly true;' for I had a mysterious hint from a very worthy, but a very singular man, (your lordship knows how I adore originality,) the clergyman of the parish, who made me aware there was something wrong about Miss Clara--something that--your lordship will excuse my speaking more plainly,--Oh, no!--I fear--I fear it is all too true--You know Mr.
Cargill, I suppose, my lord ?" "Yes--no--I--I think I have seen him," said Lord Etherington.

"But how came the lady to make the parson her father-confessor ?--they have no auricular confession in the Kirk--it must have been with the purpose of marriage, I presume--let us hope that it took place--perhaps it really was so--did he, Cargill--the minister, I mean--say any thing of such a matter ?" "Not a word--not a word--I see where you are, my lord; you would put a good face on't .-- 'They call'd it marriage, by that specious name To veil the crime, and sanctify the shame.' Queen Dido for that.

How the clergyman came into the secret I cannot tell--he is a very close man.

But I know he will not hear of Miss Mowbray being married to any one, unquestionably because he knows that, in doing so, she would introduce disgrace into some honest family--and, truly, I am much of his mind, my lord." "Perhaps Mr.Cargill may know the lady is privately married already," said the Earl; "I think that is the more natural inference, begging your ladyship's pardon for presuming to differ in opinion." Lady Penelope seemed determined not to take this view of the case.
"No, no--no, I tell you," she replied; "she cannot be married, for if she were married, how could the poor wretch say that she was ruined ?--You know there is a difference betwixt ruin and marriage." "Some people are said to have found them synonymous, Lady Penelope," answered the Earl.
"You are smart on me, my lord; but still, in common parlance, when we say a woman is ruined, we mean quite the contrary of her being married--it is impossible for me to be more explicit upon such a topic, my lord." "I defer to your ladyship's better judgment," said Lord Etherington.