To their reprehensible tendencies in this last respect the Miss Minetts
could bear painful witness, as--with hushed voices and entreaties the
sorry tale might "go no further"--they more than once confided to Theresa
Bilson. For one Saturday afternoon--unknown to the vicar--being zealous
in the admonishing of recalcitrant church-goers and rounding up of
possible Sunday-school recruits, they crossed to the island at low tide;
and in their best district visitor manner--too often a sparkling blend of
condescension and familiarity, warranted to irritate--severally demanded
entrance to the first two of the black cottages.--The Inn they avoided.
Refined gentlewomen can hardly be expected, even in the interests of
religion, to risk pollution by visiting a common tavern, more
particularly when a company of half-grown lads and blue jerseyed men--who
may, of course, have been carousing within--hangs about its morally
malodorous door.
Of precisely what followed their attempted violation of the privacy of
those two cottages, even the Miss Minetts themselves could subsequently
give no very coherent account.
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