* * * * *
Elise used a makeshift conversation with Rutledge till she heard the humming accents of the others well going, and then—
"Mr. Rutledge," she said. "I wish to speak to you of your defence of my name when that Mr. Smith—"
The suddenness of it routed all Rutledge's cool senses.
"Oh, Miss Phillips," he broke in, "I am so sorry that I should have done anything to accentuate that abominable fellow's remark. I am so heartily ashamed of my unpardonable boyish thoughtlessness and lack of consideration that I cannot find words to express my contempt for myself," etc., to the same effect, without giving Elise a chance to speak, till she was surprised in turn, then amused, then annoyed. Finally, in order to bring him to a reasonable coherency, she interrupted his self-denunciations.
"What did Mr. Smith say of me, Mr. Rutledge?"
"I can't repeat that to you, Miss Phillips."
"You must if the words are decent. Tell me at once. I must know."
"He simply coupled your name with that of—Doctor Woods—the negro who—lunched at your home in Cleveland."
Evans forced out the last half-dozen words with a visible effort—which the girl may have misinterpreted.