“Look here, Richard,” said Harrington, “you ought to hear Wendell Phillips.”
“So I ought,” answered Wentworth, “and I mean to sometime.”
“You must,” replied Harrington. “He will show you the ideal beauty of anti-slavery. Many a young man has found his eloquence the golden door to a life for liberty. Now Muriel has planned to go to the Convention to-night, and you are to go with us, and I hope you will hear him.
“Who are going?” asked Wentworth.
“We four,” replied Harrington.
“You three,” responded Wentworth; “I won’t go.”
“Oh, but you must,” replied Harrington. “I promised to bring you there to tea, and my word is at stake.”
Wentworth was silent, and sat with his eyes fixed on the floor, and his face reluctant and uneasy. Harrington watched him, and felt that there was some reason connected with either Muriel or Emily for his desire to avoid going to Temple street that evening. Suddenly the story Witherlee had told him about Wentworth and Muriel flashed into his memory, and with it came the sharp suspicion that Witherlee had lied. Could it be, after all, that Wentworth and Emily were lovers? Harrington’s heart trembled, and he determined to question Wentworth on the spot.
“Richard,” said he, “why are you averse to going up to Temple street this evening? Is it on account of anything in this talk of Fernando’s which John Todd told you?”
“Oh, no,” replied Wentworth, coloring. “I don’t care—I’ll go since you desire it.”