“Pardon me, Fernando,” broke in the calm, deep voice of Harrington, “but let me suggest that Miss Ames’ apologies will be in better place when you are entirely clear from the accusations connected with her, which Wentworth has to bring against you.”
Witherlee turned very pale, though he showed no other signs of emotion, and fixed his impassible eyes on Harrington’s, but unable, with all his stone opacity of outlook, to sustain their broad blue gaze, he carelessly lifted his eyebrows and looked away. Emily, meanwhile, having noticed Harrington’s determined face, suddenly felt a suspicion that all was not so clear with Fernando as it seemed, and resolved to say nothing till she saw the end.
“What I have to say, Fernando, is this,” began Wentworth, having choked down his rage into smiling calm. “It seems to me that on one occasion, at least, you did make mischief, if you’ll excuse the word, between Emily and me. You said something that prevented Emily from giving me a bunch of violets last Tuesday morning.”
“I did not,” returned Witherlee, coolly. “I simply made a playful remark to Emily—the most innocent remark imaginable—which I’m perfectly willing to repeat now.”
“Nevertheless,” said Wentworth, “your innocent remark, or the manner in which you made it, incensed Emily against me.”
“Am I to blame for her misapprehensions, Richard?” mildly asked Fernando. “You are aware now that Emily was in an unusually sensitive state of mind at that time. You see how she mistook the sense of other things I said, and yet you yourself have admitted that I am blameless in respect to those. Why, then, may she not have mistaken the sense of the playful remark I made about the flowers, and if so, why do you hold me to an account for it?”
Wentworth could not get over this. He was fairly checked in the very outset. The devil take it, he said to himself, I believe that Emily and I have been to blame after all!
“I was as much astonished as you were, Richard, at Emily’s conduct about the violets,” continued Fernando. “But I never imagined till this moment, that she was influenced by my remark. How could I? I thought she was rude to you, and I felt sorry. You must remember that I expressed my friendly regret to you at the time. Surely, I wouldn’t have done that, if I had instigated her to offend you.”
“Well, well,” said Wentworth, hastily, “I pass that. I own that Emily was in a mood to misunderstand things; but see here. There were things you said to me in the fencing-school that morning which, to my shame, made me think unkindly of Harrington. Now”—