“If I had been you,” said Bell, “I believe I should have taken it as a compliment; and I’m quite sure I should have sent him a card for to-day, and thought no more about it.”
“And if you had been I and I had been you,” returned Kitty, with spirit, “I am quite sure that I should have dropped the subject, and have done my best to help you to forget that such a disagreeable thing had happened.”
“Oh, well,” said the other girl, looking at her oddly, “I never knew until now that I was the more unselfish of the two.”
Afterwards, she told Mrs Marchmont what had happened. It will be seen that by this time Bell had become a partisan of Everitt’s, and it will be guessed that Mrs Marchmont had admitted her into her confidence. It was, indeed, the wisest thing that she could do, for Bell was a girl who resented being shut out, and would certainly take an active part on one side or the other. Perhaps she had a mischievous delight in beholding Kitty—whom she considered to be a little straight-laced—the victim of such an adventure; but the romance of it all, and some knowledge of Everitt’s real character, touched a deeper spring of love for her friend, and she was genuinely anxious to set this unfortunately crooked beginning straight.
Jack’s attempt, she owned, had not done much good.
Was it likely it would?—from Mrs Marchmont.
Well, Bell thought that he spoke out manfully. He said a great deal about Mr Everitt which certainly made her like him better, and she thought it must have produced the same effect upon Kitty, if she had not been unreasonable.
Mrs Marchmont, on her part, maintained chat men always bungled that sort of thing. Their touch was so heavy, they blundered in, and knocked over right and left. “But it is really dreadfully stupid of Kitty,” she said, “and I shall have to take her in hand myself.”
Jack, who had something of the same feeling about his own attempts, wandered about disconsolately, until he fell in with Miss Aitcheson again; and, as he stayed by her side for the remainder of the afternoon, it is to be supposed that she was able to administer consolation. But she found it impossible to induce him to understand Kitty’s view. He was dreadfully frivolous and inclined to laugh; he got Bell to describe poor Everitt’s shortcomings as a model, and the evident anguish which he endured, and then the two laughed together in a manner which, considering the aims which they professed, was, to say the least, heartless. Mrs Marchmont gave Bell a hint of this when she drove her away, and Bell resented the imputation.
“It was a jest from beginning to end—in one sense,” she said; “and Kitty’s mistake has been in treating it so seriously. If you encourage her in it, she will take on herself the airs of a tragic heroine.”