“You made no charge of that nature against Richard,” said Emily terribly embarrassed, “but you told me of that young lady’s betrayal—I forget her name—by young Whittemore, and dwelt on the insidiousness of his addresses to women in such a way, that I thought you were thinking of Richard, or withholding something similar you knew of him, and—Oh, I have acted like a fool!” she passionately exclaimed, dashing away the tears which sprang to her eyes.
Witherlee saw his triumph with an exulting heart, while his face was, save for a little dejection, perfectly immobile.
“I am very, very sorry,” he remarked in a slow, kind voice. “It is unaccountable to me that you should connect my narration, which was simply true, with Mr. Wentworth. I never heard of anything so singular.”
“Let it go, Fernando,” said Emily, “and do forgive”—
“What is the young lady’s name of whom you speak in connection with Mr. Whittemore, Fernando?” interrupted Muriel, with an air of phlegm which she had caught from Harrington, who occasionally wore it. Muriel put the question, at once because she wanted to know, and because she was anxious to save Emily from the disgrace of asking Witherlee’s forgiveness, when, as she saw, he had only adroitly juggled away his subtle slanders.
“Why it’s Susan Hollingsworth,” returned Witherlee, “you know her.”
“That pretty Susan Hollingsworth!” exclaimed Muriel. “To be sure I know her. But I hadn’t heard of this. How strange that I had not!”
“It is, certainly,” replied Witherlee, lifting his eyebrows, “for it’s town talk, and Miss Hollingsworth’s position in society is perfectly ruined. She’s taboo forever. I was at a party last night at Mrs. Binghampton’s and you should have heard the way the ladies cut her up. It was a treat to hear it”—and Witherlee laughed with his turtle-husky chuckle. “That young Mr. Mill undertook to defend her, and it was perfectly ludicrous to see the scrape he got himself into. Miss Bean wanted to know instantly if he was going to come out in favor of Mormonism, and Mill was completely dumb-foundered, and covered with disgrace in a moment.” And again Witherlee laughed with his turtle-husky chuckle.
“Have you seen Susan lately?” asked Muriel, abstractedly, with a face of sadness.
“No, I haven’t called there since I heard of this affair,” replied Witherlee with a sort of stolid importance. “The Hollingsworths have been sent to Coventry, and no decent person visits them.”