She took it out on Anne, as if Anne were wholly to blame for the outrage. Anne had the temerity,—the insolence, Mrs. Tresslyn called it,—to advise her to make the best of a situation that could not be helped. She held forth at some length for her daughter's benefit about "common decency," and was further shocked by Anne's complacency.
"I think she's behaving with uncommon decency," said Anne. "It isn't every one who would turn the other cheek like this. Let her alone. She's the best thing that can happen to George."
"My dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Tresslyn, aghast. "Of course, I shall not come to this apartment while she is here. That is out of the question."
"Inasmuch as Lutie was here first and means to stay, I am afraid you will have to reconsider that decision, mother,—provided you want to be near George."
"Did you speak of her as 'Lutie'?" demanded Mrs. Tresslyn, staring.
"I don't know what else to call her," said Anne.
"Simeon Dodge will appreciate my feelings,—my position—"
"Simmy is very much on her side, so I'd advise you to steer clear of him," said Anne impatiently. "Now, mother dear, don't upset things here. Don't make a fuss. Don't—"
"A fuss?" cried her mother, trying hard not to believe her ears.
"Don't make it any harder for poor old Simmy. He is in for a rough time of it. Tresslyns everywhere! It isn't a lovely prospect, you know. He will be fed up with us before—And, mother, don't overlook the fact that George is very ill. He may not pull through. He—"