“But have you any reason to think it might be the truth?” asked John.
“None whatever–really none, except that he differs so much from you in every way, politically speaking.”
She knew very well that Vancouver hated John, and she had often thought it possible that the offensive articles in question came from the pen of the former. There was a tone of superior wit and a ring of truer English in them than are generally met with in the average office work of a daily newspaper.
“I do not believe Vancouver writes them,” said John, slowly. “He is not exactly a friend, but he is not an enemy either.”
Mrs. Wyndham, who knew better than that, held her peace. She was not a mischief-maker, and moreover she liked both the men too well to wish a quarrel between them. She busied herself at the tea-table for a moment, and John stood near her, watching the moving crowd. Now and then his eyes rested on Josephine Thorn’s graceful figure, and he noticed how her expressive features lighted up in the conversation. John could hear something of their conversation, which was somewhat noisy. They were talking in that strain of objectless question and answer which may be stupid to idiocy or clever to the verge of wit, according to the talkers. Joe called it “chaff.”
“I have learned America,” said Joe.
“Indeed!” said Vancouver. “You have not been long about it; but then, you will say there is not much to learn.”
“I never believe in places till I have lived in them,” said Joe.
“Nor in people till you have seen them, I suppose,” returned Vancouver. “But now that you have learned America, of course you believe in us all without exception. We are the greatest nation on earth–I suppose you have heard that?”
“Yes; you told me so the other day; but it needs all the faith I have in your judgment to believe it. If any one else had said it, you know, I should have thought there was some mistake.”