"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Sylvestre, "it seems very hard that it should be Bertha who should need such defence."
"It is miserable," said Mrs. Merriam, impatiently. "It is disgraceful when one considers who is the person to blame. It is very delicate of us not to use names, I suppose; but there has been enough delicacy—and indelicacy—and I should like to use them as freely as other people do. I think you remember that I have not been very fond of Mr. Richard Amory."
When Colonel Tredennis left them he turned his steps at once toward the house of the woman who was his friend, and upon whose assistance so much depended. To gain her sympathy seemed the first thing to be done, and one thought repeated itself again and again in his mind, "How shall I say it best?"
But fortune favored him, and helped him to speak as he had not anticipated that it would.
The lady sat alone in her favorite chair in her favorite room, when he was ushered into her presence, as he had frequently happened to be before somewhere about the same hour. A book lay open upon her lap, but she was not reading it, and, he fancied, had not been doing so for some time. He also fancied that when she saw him her greeting glance had a shade of relief in it, and her first words seemed to certify that he was not mistaken.
"I am more than usually glad to see you," she said. "I think that if you had not appeared so opportunely I should have decided in about half an hour that I must send for you."
"I am very fortunate to have come," he answered, and he held her kind hand a moment, and there came into his face a look so anxious that, being in the habit of observing him, she saw it.
"Are you very well?" she asked, gently. "I am afraid not. You are rather pale. Sit down by my chair and let me look at you."
"Am I pale?" said the colonel. "You are very good to notice it, though I am not ill. I am only—only"—
She looked at him with grave interest.