“Yes; in English,” Grace answered, with a defiant look at her sister.
“That’s the girl who’s related to Mr. Trenton?” asked Durland, vaguely conscious that Grace was under fire. “I thought that was the name. Trenton,” he explained to Moore, “is a famous engineer. I guess there’s nobody stands higher in his line.”
“He’s the husband of that Mary Graham Trenton who writes horrible books,” announced Ethel.
“That’s got nothing to do with Trenton’s standing as an engineer,” Durland replied doggedly.
“I guess no man has to stand for his wife’s opinions these days,” said John conciliatingly.
“Of course I don’t know what Mr. Trenton’s views are on the subjects his wife writes about,” said Ethel. “But Grace probably knows.”
“You couldn’t expect me to violate Mr. Trenton’s confidence,” Grace replied.
Fortunately the meal was concluded and Mrs. Durland rose from the table.
“I’m awfully sorry, John,” said Grace, when they reached the street. “There’s no reason why Ethel should show her spite at me when we have company. She thought with you there it would be easy to catch me in a lie. It was a nasty trick; but it was splendid of you to help me out.”
“You don’t need to thank me for that,” said John. “Ethel was sore at me for being a heathen and she thought she’d pot us both with one shot. And I guess she did,” he ended with a chuckle. “It would be easy for her to prove that there’s no Mabel Conwell at the University. But why make so much fuss about it?”