The Pelicans by E.M. Delafield

Frances and her hostess found themselves in perfect harmony. It did not occur to Frances that the eight years which had transformed her from a child to a young girl had changed Lady Argent a great deal more. Discursive she had always been, but her talk had now become almost wandering, and her always gentle volubility had increased surprisingly. The amusement, tempered by slight dismay, with which Ludovic listened to his parent's verbal flights, was quite unshared by Frances. Lady Argent talked about the Catholic Church, about which Frances wanted to learn all that she could, and each was serenely content.

"I haven't any scruples, dear, about telling you all that you want to know," Lady Argent unnecessarily informed her guest, "because dear Bertie is so broad-minded and honest herself that I know she wouldn't mind. And it seems only fair to counteract all those dreadful years that you've spent with Protestants, poor child, who have such very strange ideas about the Faith. Like Indulgences, you know -- so terribly misunderstood, I always think -- paid permission to commit sin for a hundred days, I've even heard people suggest -- ignorant Protestants, you know."