“Certainly,” replied Alice, “when you said so. And all that about Mrs. Haight’s illness is not true either? Oh, Emma!”
“Oh, that’s true enough, Alice. You need not look so shocked. The poor old soul has been ill ever so long; so I always send mamma there when I want to make an excuse for her. She does go, in fact, pretty often; but I make her the most attentive, devoted friend that ever was.” And Emma laughed heartily at her own cleverness, and seemed to enjoy the idea excessively; but Alice looked grave, as she said, —
“How can you, Emma?”
“How can I what, Alice?”
“Why, tell so many—what shall I call them—fibs, for nothing.”
“I never ‘fib for nothing,’ Alice,” replied Emma. “That would be downright extravagance and waste. My fibs always have a reason. I knew mamma did not want to see Mrs. Gardiner—so I said she was out.”
“Why, then, did you not say she was engaged?” pursued Alice, reproachfully.
“Because, my dear, that would have been quite as much of a fib as the other, and not near as effectual. Mamma was not dressed to see company, and was only reading a novel. I could not very well say that, you know. I presume even your penchant for truth would not have carried you so far. Beside, every body is said to be ‘out’ when they don’t mean to see company. They are words, of course, to which no one attaches any ideas of either falsehood or truth.”
“I am not certain of that,” said Alice, “even as a general thing; but when a person enters into such particulars as you do, Emma, I am sure of the contrary. You not only sent your mother to Mrs. Haight’s, but kept her there to dinner. It really does seem to me that that was most gratuitous fibbing.”
“No such thing,” said Emma, laughing. “It was a very bright idea, that; for I saw she thought of waiting till mamma came home, and wanted, moreover, to dine here—and I had no idea of that, I assure you. I was tired to death of her as it was.”