"How could you know whether they are wicked or not?" he burst out angrily. "Do you suppose that they would show you the iniquity of their hearts?"
"Why, Ephraim, you've always stood up for them before!"
He gave a sort of snort. "I never stood up for them by making eyes at my hands and cooing out my words."
She looked up in entire bewilderment.
"It doesn't matter what I mean," he added. "What did they say? What did they do? Tell me. If I'd known these fellows had come back, do you suppose I'd have let you go?"
"You are so strange," she said. "They did nothing but just bring me home and hold the umbrella, and Joseph Smith said he knew he'd been a bad man and didn't know anything. I thought you'd be interested to hear about them, Ephraim."
"I should have thought you'd had too much self-respect to allow him to talk to you like that. Of course he was trying to work on your feelings."
"No, he wasn't, Ephraim. You are quite as unjust as my aunt to-day. He wasn't trying to work on my feelings. He was just—well, he was sorry that my frock got so wet, and he just happened to say the other thing. I am sure—"
Her conviction concerning the naturalness of Smith's conduct and the Quaker's sincerity had arisen in the presence of each, and was not now to be ascribed to any particular word or action which she could remember and repeat.
"Oh, he was sorry your frock was splashed, was he? And the other fellow they call Halsey, was he concerned about that too?"