“Not that I know of; but——”
“Then allow me to say, my good Mrs. Horton,” interrupted the celebrated counsellor, with a manner that was almost austere, “that you have been greatly to blame in hazarding the sort of remark you did. If you know nothing of the character you certainly insinuated, you should have said nothing. It is very extraordinary that women, alive as they must be to the consequences to one of their own sex, are ever more ready than men to throw out careless, and frequently malicious hints, that take away a reputation, and do a melancholy amount of harm in the world. Slander is the least respectable, the most unchristianlike, and the most unlady-like vice, of all the secondary sins of your sex. One would think the danger you are all exposed to in common, would teach you greater caution.”
“Yes, sir, that is true; but this Mary Monson is in such a pickle already, that it is not easy to make her case much worse,” answered Mrs.[Mrs.] Horton, a good deal frightened at the austerity of Dunscomb’s rebuke; for his reputation was too high to render his good or bad opinion a matter of indifference to her. “If you only knew the half that is said of her in Duke’s, you wouldn’t mind a careless word or so about her. Everybody thinks her guilty; and a crime, more or less, can be of no great matter to the likes of her.”
“Ah, Mrs. Horton, these careless words do a vast deal of harm. They insinuate away a reputation in a breath; and my experience has taught me that they who are the most apt to use them, are persons whose own conduct will least bear the light. Women with a whole log-heap of beams in their own eyes, are remarkable for discovering motes. Give me the female who floats along quietly in her sphere, unoffending and charitable, wishing for the best, and as difficult to be brought to think as to do evil. But, they talk a good deal against my client, do they?”
“More than I have ever known folks talk against any indicted person, man or woman. The prize-fighters, who were in for murder, had a pretty hard time of it; but nothing to Mary Monson’s. In short, until ’Squire Timms came out in her favour, she had no chance at all.”
“This is not very encouraging, certainly—but what is said, Mrs. Horton, if you will suffer me to put the question?”
“Why, ’Squire Dunscomb,” answered the woman, pursing up a very pretty American mouth of her own, “a body is never sure that you won’t call what she says slander——”
“Poh—poh—you know me better than that. I never meddle with that vile class of suits. I am employed to defend Mary Monson, you know——”
“Yes, and are well paid for it too, ’Squire Dunscomb, if all that a body hears is true,” interrupted Mrs. Horton, a little spitefully. “Five thousand dollars, they say, to a cent!”
Dunscomb, who was working literally without other reward than the consciousness of doing his duty, smiled, while he frowned at this fresh instance of the absurdities into which rumour can lead its votaries. Bowing a little apology, he coolly lighted a segar, and proceeded.