“Mr. Mahone?”
Mr. Mahone dropped his arm, and almost leaped to his feet; a whole volley of small shot rolled off in that one exclamation.
“I beg ten thousand pardons, Miss Post. I was speaking of the opinion others might have. As for me, I have eyes only for one woman, this side of sunrise, and that woman is Ellen Post.”
“Mr. Mahone, sit down. It is hard when the heart is wounded to stick to business; but stick we must.”
“Well, Ellen, I don’t object. You were speaking of Miss Laurence. I know all about her!”
“But how?” demanded Ellen, forgetting business again, in a sharp fit of jealousy. “Mr. Mahone, do you visit that creature?”
“Me? me? Do you think I haven’t better taste than Mr. Ivon? He visits her; but, as for me, I’d rather be excused, not being necessitated to go away from home.”
“This is not business,” exclaimed Ellen, growing practical, as her jealousy was appeased. “The long and the short of it is, this girl has been forcing herself into the company of her betters, which neither the madam or Miss Spicer will stand. Mr. Ivon has taken to her in a way quite ridiculous; so has another person of quite as much importance. The ladies don’t want her to cross their path again. We must see that she don’t.”
“But how?”
“The Laurence family, root and branch, must be brought to disgrace. Being poor as Job’s cat isn’t enough, for some rich people have taken them up. She must be so covered with shame, that no one will have the courage to speak to her in the street.”