"Now you're malicious yourself," said Jeff, enjoying the human warmth of her. "I never knew you to be so hateful. Why can't you live and let live? If I'm to let your Weedie alone, can't you keep your hands off poor old Madame Beattie?"
Miss Amabel turned upon him a look where just reproof struggled with wounded pride.
"Jeffrey, I didn't think you'd be insincere with me."
"Hang it, Amabel, I'm not. You're one of the few unbroken idols I've got. Sterling down to the toes. Didn't you know it?"
"And yet you did take Madame Beattie to Moore's rally."
"Rally? So that's what he calls it."
"And you did prompt her to talk to those men in their language—several languages, I understand, quick as lightning, one after the other—and to say things that counteracted at once all Mr. Moore's influence."
"Now," said Jeffrey, in a high degree of interest, "we're getting somewhere. What did I say to them? What did I say through Madame Beattie?"
"We don't know."
"Ask Moore."