“I cannot go back to Boston.”
“Why then?”
“Because Mary’s cousin has told the whole affair.”
“Nonsense!”
“She has. I know it. Men, whom I had been friendly with, got out of my way; women excused themselves at their homes, and did not see me on the streets. I have no doubt all Boston is talking of the affair.”
“Then come back to New York. New Yorkers attend strictly to their own love affairs. Father will stand by you; and I will.”
“Father will not. He called me a scoundrel, when I told him last night, and advised me to go to the frontier. Joris Van Heemskirk will not talk, but madame will chatter for him, and I could not bear to meet Doctor Moran. As for Captain Jacobus, he would invent new words and oaths to abuse me with, and Aunt Angelica would, of course, say amen to all he says;—and there are others.”
“Yes, there is Lord Hyde.”
“Curse him! But I intended to give him his letter—now you have burnt it.”
“You intended nothing of the kind, Rem. Go away as soon as you can. I don’t want to know where you go just yet. New York is impossible, and Boston is impossible. Father says go to the frontier, I say go South. What you have done, you have done; and it cannot be undone; so don’t carry it about with you. And I would let women alone—they are beyond you—go in for politics.”