“And did you write that awful thing about Mrs. Clarke?” cried Lena, sitting up with big blue eyes, and gazing earnestly at Miss Huntress with, awe as an arbiter of reputations.
“Yep,” replied that lady with a gulp of tea.
“Gracious!” exclaimed Mrs. Percival. “I hope you’ll never send them anything about me.”
“Then you’d better never do anything indiscreet,” Miss Huntress laughed maliciously. “But I don’t think you would,” she went on speculatively. “You’re too clever and too ambitious for that. Do you know, I’ve rather come to the conclusion that it’s only rather simple-hearted people who do those things. Take that Mrs. Clarke, now. Of course her husband was a brute, and when the other man came along she fell so much in love with him that she didn’t even think of any one else in the world except their two selves. A woman who was incapable of whole-souled passion would have kept an eye on the world and walked the narrow path of virtue.”
“Why, you’re defending her!” exclaimed Lena.
“Not in the least,” said Miss Huntress grimly. “I helped to make her pay the price.”
“Oh, well,” Lena said with an air of greatness, “there are some of us who can combine the deepest love with decent behavior you know.”
“Of course,” answered Miss Huntress.
“Now Miss Elton is just that other kind. I believe she never thinks what people say about her,” Lena observed. “Not that she’d do anything out of the way, you understand.”
“Certainly not.” Miss Huntress began to prick up her professional ears. “She’s a particular friend of yours, isn’t she?”