Her cousin did not interfere, but sat watching her—almost solemnly.
“Ah, I thought so!” she cried, with a shriek of laughter. “I thought so! I could hardly be mistaken! What will the poor fellow say to it! It will kill him!” She laughed immoderately. “I hope it will give him a lesson, however!” she went on. “It is most amusing to see how much he thinks of his own verses! He worships them! And then makes up for the idolatry by handling without mercy those of other people! It was he who so maltreated my poor first! I never saw anything so unfair in my life!”
Sefton said nothing, but looked grim.
“You should see—I will show it you—the gorgeous copy of this same comical stuff he gave me to-day! I am so glad he is going: he won’t be able to ask me how I like it, and I sha’n’t have to tell a story! I’m sorry for him, though—truly! He is a very nice sort of boy, though rather presuming. I must find out who the writer of that review is, and get mamma to invite him! He is a host in himself! I don’t think I ever read anything so clever—or more just!”
“Oh, then, you have read the book?” spoke her cousin at length.
“No; but ain’t those extracts enough? Don’t they speak for themselves—for their silliness and sentimentality?”
“How would you like of a book of yours judged by scraps chopped off anywhere, Lufa!—or chosen for the look they would have in the humorous frame of the critic’s remarks! It is less than fair! I do not feel that I know in the least what sort of book this is. I only know that again and again, having happened to come afterward upon the book itself, I have set down the reviewer as a knave, who for ends of his own did not scruple to make fools of his readers. I am ashamed, Lufa, that you should so accept everything as gospel against a man who believes you his friend!”
Walter’s heart had been as water, now it had turned to ice, and with the coldness came strength: he could bear anything except this desert of a woman. The moment Sefton had thus spoken, he rose and came forward—not so much, I imagine, to Sefton’s surprise as Lufa’s and said,
“Thank you, Mr. Sefton, for undeceiving me. I owe you, Lady Lufa, the debt of a deep distrust hereafter of poetic ladies.”
“They will hardly be annihilated by it, Mr. Colman!” returned Lufa. “But, indeed, I did not know you were in the room; and perhaps you did not know that in our circle it is counted bad manners to listen!”