“Most assuredly,” was Muriel’s quiet reply.
“Most inevitably,” said Wentworth, like an Irish echo.
“Why, this is perfectly unaccountable,” murmured Witherlee, with superbly acted astonishment. “I certainly did see you both, as I told Mr. Harrington in a rash moment, which I can never too much regret. I was entering the parlor when I saw you, and drew back instantly. I came in again in a minute, and Emily had just entered the room, through the door leading from the conservatory.”
“It can’t be,” said Muriel.
“Can’t possibly be,” said the Irish echo, ineffably delighted at Witherlee’s fix.
“But how could I be mistaken,” persisted Witherlee. “There you evidently were, both of you, in that position. You, Muriel, had on the lilac dress you so often wear. It was the first thing I saw, and I knew you by it instantly.”
“Utterly impossible,” said Muriel.
“Tee-totally impossible,” said the gleeful echo.
Witherlee was silent, and gazed at them with admirable dubiety, wishing in his heart that they would only say more, for with these brief denials, he found it difficult to gracefully gain the point he was driving at.