"Stephanie, dear," began Mrs. Postlewaite, without any preliminary, "I have heard of Mr. Dolittle's nasty tale of what he saw last night in the Croyden conservatory; I have also heard of Harry's prompt prosecution of that unspeakable Porshinger, and I want to tell you that I and Mrs. Porterfield are ready to testify in your behalf. We were on the little balcony overhanging one side of the room; we saw Porshinger make the attempt, your indignant repulse, your seizure again, your freeing yourself, and then your making him take you back to the ball-room. The last was delightful! I saw it all, my dear—and I'm proud of Harry Lorraine, because he chose to believe your story rather than that horrid Dolittle's, and to prosecute Porshinger instead of a disgraceful use of physical violence."
"You're very kind, Mrs. Postlewaite," Stephanie replied—"very kind——"
"Not at all, my dear, not at all! We shall take particular care to tell it. It is fortunate we happened to see everything, and so can vouch for your story in the face of Dolittle's scandalous tale and Porshinger's lie—he will lie, of course. Now, if you don't mind, we will let by-gones be by-gones—and start fresh." She laid her hand intimately on Stephanie's arm. "And we'll have tea together here to bind it—just we three. Will you, my dear?"
"Of course, I will, Mrs. Postlewaite!" Stephanie responded, with a happy little laugh. The Porshinger episode was over—the victory was theirs.
Just then, from somewhere downstairs, came a voice calling so loudly the whole piazza heard:—
"I say, fellows, do you know that Amherst is in town—got back this morning? I shouldn't be surprised if the damn scoundrel would actually have nerve enough to come up here and ask us all to take a drink!"
Pendleton deliberately leaned forward and took Stephanie's hand in his—and held it, with a reassuring pressure.
"As you were saying, Mrs. Postlewaite," he remarked, "I hear that the Croyden ball was a charming affair, though I was so unfortunate as to miss it."