“Proof? That’s quite a strong word, Lydia,” Mr. Dodge reminded her.
“Thank you!” she said. “I mean exactly what I’m saying. Mrs. Braithwaite did this thing to me out of deliberate spitefulness; and she did it because she knows what I think of her.”
“But you said you had ‘proof’ that she’s a ‘whited sepulchre,’ ” he said. “The word ‘proof’——”
“May we assume that it means reliable evidence reliably confirmed?” Mrs. Dodge asked, with satirical politeness. “Suppose you’ve done something disgraceful and another person happens to know you did it. Then suppose you play a nasty trick on this other person. Wouldn’t it be proof that you hate him because he knows you did the disgraceful thing?”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow you,” Mr. Dodge said, uncomfortably. “When did I ever do this disgraceful thing you’re talking about? If it’s actually disgraceful to subscribe a hundred dollars to the Workers——”
“I’m not talking of that,” his wife said. “I’ll try to put it within reach of your intellect. Suppose I know Mrs. Braithwaite to be a whited sepulchre; then if she does an insulting thing to me, isn’t that proof she’s furious with me for finding her out?”
“No,” he answered. “It might incline one to think that she resented your poor opinion of her, but it doesn’t prove anything at all.”
“Doesn’t it? You wouldn’t say so if you knew what I know!”
Lily’s eyes widened in hopeful eagerness.
“How exciting!” she cried. “Mamma, what do you know about Mrs. Braithwaite?”