"It is not true—not a word of it!" replied Mrs. Durand, as coolly as if she were merely saying, "How do you do?"
"Not true! nonsense; is he not dark, aged over thirty, name Lisle? did he not hang about the settlement for six months living on his wits? Of course it is true," rejoined the elder lady, with an air that proclaimed that she had not merely crushed, but pulverized, her foe!
"Lisle is not an uncommon name, and I know that my friend is not the original of your flattering little sketch."
"But I tell you that he is! I can prove it; I have it all in black and white!" cried Mrs. Creery furiously—her temper had now gone by the board. Who was this Mrs. Durand that she should dare to contradict her? She saw that they were face to face in the lists, and that the other ladies were eager spectators of the tourney; it was not merely a dispute over Mr. Lisle, it was a struggle for the social throne, whoever conquered now would be mistress of the realm. This woman must be browbeaten, silenced, and figuratively slain!
"I have it all in writing, and pray what can you bring against that?" she demanded imperiously.
"Simply my word, which I hope will stand good," returned the other firmly.
Mrs. Creery laughed derisively, and tossed her head and then replied,—
"Words go for nothing!"
This was rude—it was more than rude, it was insulting!
"Am I to understand that you do not believe mine?" said Mrs. Durand, making a noble effort to keep her temper.