"I said what I truly believe, dear," he said kindly. "You know that!" Genevieve was silent. Her heart beat furiously, and she felt that she was going to cry. He was angry with her—he was angry with her! Oh, what had she said, what had she said!
"But for all that," George continued, after a moment, "nobody but two women could have put such an idiotic construction upon my words. I am certainly going to make that point with Alys. A sex that can jump headlong to such a perfectly untenable conclusion is very far from ready to assume the responsibilities of citizenship—"
"George, dearest!" faltered Genevieve. She did not want to make him cross again, but she could not in all loyalty leave him under this misunderstanding, to approach the always articulate Alys.
"George, it was Penny, I'm sure!" she said. "From what they said,—they talked all the time!—I think Penny went to see them, and sort of—sort of—suggested this! I'm so sorry, George—"
George was sulphurously silent.
"And Penny will make the most of it, you know!"
Genevieve went on quickly and nervously. "If you should send them back, tonight, I know he'd tell Betty! And Betty says she is coming to see you because she has been asked to read an answer to your paper, at the Club, and she might—she has such a queer sense of humor—"
Silence. Genevieve wished that she was dead, and that every one was dead.
"I don't want to criticize you, dear," George said presently, in his kindest tone. "But the time to act, of course, was when they first arrived. I can't do anything now. We'll just have to face it through, for a few days."
It was not much of a cloud, but it was their first. Genevieve went downstairs with tears in her eyes.