The Chamberlain damned internally.
“Don't believe all you hear, Kate,” said he. “And even if it was the case,”—he broke off in a faint laugh.
“Even if what?” she repeated, looking up.
“Even if—even if there was anything in the story, who's to blame? Your goodman's not the ass he sometimes looks.”
“You mean that he was the first to put her in your way, and that he had his own reasons?”
The Chamberlain nodded.
Mrs. Petullo's fingers rushed the life out of her knitting. “If I thought—if I thought!” she said, leaving the sentence unfinished. No more was necessary; Sim MacTaggart thanked heaven he was not mated irrevocably.
“Is it true?” she asked. “Is it true of you, Sim, who did your best to make me push Petullo to Doom's ruin?”
“Now, my dear, you talk the damnedest nonsense!” said Simon MacTaggart firmly. “I pushed in no way; the fool dropped into your husband's hands like a ripe plum. I have plenty of shortcomings of my own to answer for without getting the blame of others.”
“Don't lie like that, Sim, dear,” said Mrs. Petullo, decidedly. “My memory is not gone yet, though you seem to think me getting old. Oh yes! I have all my faculties about me still.”