"If he does, and shows himself friendly toward her," she returned, "nothing more can be said which could be of much importance. He is the hero of the story, as I dare say you have heard. If he remains her friend, that proves that he did not accuse her of plotting against him, and that he has no cause for offence. If the story of the grand scene between them is untrue, the foundation-stone is taken away, and, having the countenance of a few people who show their confidence with tact and discretion, she is safe. I will go to the ball, my friend, and I will use what influence I possess to insure that she is not badly treated."
"I knew you would be kind to her," Tredennis said, with kindling eyes. "I have seen you kind before to those who needed kindness, even to those who did not deserve it—and she does!"
"Yes, yes, I am sure she does!" she answered. "Poor child! Poor child!"
And she gave him her hand again, and, as he wrung it in his, her eyes were fuller of sympathy than ever.
He reached Senator Blundel's rooms an hour later, and found him in the midst of his papers and pigeon-holes,—letters and pamphlets to right of him, to left of him, before and behind him.
"Well," he said, by way of greeting, "our Westoria friends are out of humor this morning."
"So I have heard," Tredennis answered.
"And they may well be—they may well be," he said, nodding sharply. "And there are some fine stories told, of course."
"I have come to tell you one myself, sir," said Tredennis.
"What!" cried Blundel, turning on his chair,—"you have a story?"