He looked at her with smouldering eyes. He was feeling admiration for her quick, hot southern blood and resentful spirit. It was part of that splendid type of womanhood that he had determined to make his own. And that it was now displayed in defence of the man whose weakness he despised and whose personality he hated filled him with a dull, glooming fury. His lips twisted. "Maligned?" he repeated, in an accent that was a question.
"That was my word," she said steadily.
"You appear to attach an extraordinary importance to my tale," he retorted, with grim sarcasm.
"Do you deny that there was innuendo?"
He smiled. "I can endure even that suspicion, since it is such a compliment to my own subtlety. May I ask, in my turn, in whose interest you so valorously take up the cudgels?"
"Your story directly followed a reference to Mr. Henry Sevier's handling of a case in court here. The unexpected outcome of the trial in your tale was due to the fact that its chief character, though no one realised it, was under the influence of liquor. The implication seemed obvious—that Mr. Sevier was not himself when he conducted his defence."
He shrugged his shoulders. "You are the only one who has drawn such a conclusion?"
Her pale face blazed. "Oh, I understand! You intended the inference for me alone!"
"Well?" he asked, with aggravating calmness.
"Did you insinuate that, or did you not?" Her pent-up anger was tearing now at her self-control.