“Oh, you’re a gentleman, Mr. Harrington,” said Mrs. Atkins, in a tone that implied that Mr. Witherlee was not.
Witherlee looked at Mrs. Atkins with parted lips, and still, opaque eyes, white with spleen, but perfectly cool.
“Now, fellow-citizens, what’s the row?” blithely said Muriel, approaching the circle with her mother.
“Oh, cousin Muriel!” exclaimed Julia, “how can you talk in that way. It’s so low!”
“So it is, dear,” archly replied Muriel, “shockingly low, and you must be warned by my example.”
Julia looked a little foolish, and smiled.
“We were discussing, Mr. Webster,” said Fernando, tranquilly.
“Oh, Mr. Webster,” said Muriel; “I used to admire him very much when I was a girl.”
“It’s a pity you don’t now, Muriel,” said Mrs. Atkins, “for he deserves to be admired, I’m sure.”