“Who?” she asked, in alarm.
“Oh, that little Free Pusey.”
“What has he done?”
“He wanted me to give him money for his support.”
“Well, I don’t blame you. I can understand your righteous indignation, Jerome.”
Garwood felt the blood tinge his checks.
“I wish you wouldn’t talk that way, Emily.”
“W’y, why?”
“Because you don’t know how sordid politics are—or is—which is it? I’d probably have given it to him, only I didn’t have it; the righteously indignant was the only attitude left.”
“I don’t like to hear you talk like that, Jerome. I don’t like to see you in that cynical mood. It wasn’t an attitude, it was your real nature speaking.”