“I should fear getting into that habit of mind. Complaisant. Servile.”
“That’s an ugly word, Marcia,” he said, flushing.
“I am sorry. Perhaps there is a side to it that I do not understand. But surely, oh, surely, you need not have written it in that way!”
“My dear girl! Personal feeling has no relation to newspaper work. I can’t juggle with facts because the man happens to be my friend. That is n’t honest.”
“Is this honest?” She held up the clipping which she took from her pocket.
Jeremy quailed before the hurtness of her eyes, which was wonder more than reproach.
“There is n’t a word in it,” he began, “that—”
“There is not a thought in it that is not a cruel injustice.”
“You’ve no right to say that.”
“That is true. You remind me.”