“Well, if I ever heard of such malice and misrepresentation as that little serpent has been guilty of!” exclaimed Fernando, with virtuous indignation. “I never said anything of the sort. I simply remarked that Emily looked all the more gorgeous in contrast to the plain attire of Harrington, which was the simple truth. And as for the rest, my remark was that if she was dressed like a ragpicker, she would still be beautiful. Upon my word, I will chastise that boy the next time I see him!”
Wentworth looked perfectly confounded as Witherlee, with an air of indisputable veracity, told these bold lies.
“By Jupiter!” he exclaimed, “Johnny must have mistaken what you said, Fernando, with a vengeance! Well—but see here, you certainly gave Bagasse to understand that Harrington and I were in love with Muriel and Emily. Since you are a friend of his, I won’t blame you for what you say you said in confidence; but still that doesn’t excuse you for saying contemptuously that Muriel would as soon marry a man out of the alms-house as Harrington, and scornfully calling attention, as you did in that connection, to Harrington’s apparel. You must have said that, for Johnny told me circumstantially what Bagasse said in reply, and he seemed to remember that better than what you had said. And by the way, your representing that John and I were these ladies’ lovers, doesn’t square with your assertion just now to Emily, that you had no idea of any feeling between her and me. By Jupiter, Fernando!” cried Wentworth at this point, elated to think that he had really caught Witherlee in a contradiction, “you can’t make that square!”
“Mr. Wentworth,” replied Fernando with dignified severity, “you go too far when you impugn my veracity, and you are perfectly reckless in your assertions. I told Emily that I had no idea there was any feeling between you two, and I told her the truth.”
“Who did you think I had a feeling for?” demanded Wentworth.
“Since you force me to say, I thought it was Muriel—and Harrington can bear me witness,” said Witherlee, severely.
“Yes,” said Harrington, laconically. “Fernando told me so.”
“Now, then!” exclaimed Witherlee, triumphantly, “where doesn’t it square?”
Wentworth looked completely flabbergasted, as the sailors say, and colored painfully.
“As for the rest,” pursued Witherlee, “it is just one tissue of misstatements. I never told Bagasse you and Harrington were in love with these ladies. On the contrary, when he got the notion into his head, I scouted it, as your own statement shows, for I did not wish him to believe what, though I supposed it, I did not absolutely know was the case. It is true that in endeavoring to convey to Bagasse that there was no foundation for his belief, I did say, rather splenetically, for his pertinacity irritated me, that it was just as likely Muriel would wed a man out of the poor-house as Harrington. But I protest against the construction of those words which would make it seem that I compared Harrington to a pauper, or insulted him in any way. I was only endeavoring to indicate the distance between his social position and Muriel’s. You must bear in mind that I was talking to an illiterate man and a foreigner, and I only adapted my language to his illiteracy and to his imperfect knowledge of English, and used coarser terms than I would to a different person, which explains my use of that phrase, and the allusion to Harrington’s plain coat. All I meant, and all I would have said to a person of culture, was that Muriel would not marry beneath her station.”