Muriel sighed, and then laughed, feeling painfully the littleness of this conduct, yet excusing Emily out of her sense of the provocation of Witherlee.
“N’importe, Emily dear,” she said lightly, after a pause. “It matters not. But I blame Fernando for it all. I am not unjust to him, for I appreciate his power and talents, and very often find him agreeable enough. But I do not like his carping and cavilling and the envious spirit of him, and I cannot help thinking that he is untruthful, and given to mischief-making. What he said to you was really impudent—and, by the way, it was quite matched by the impudence of his joining us this morning, uninvited, and so coolly walking into the house with us unasked. If I had not been amused at it, I should have been indignant. It was a cool proceeding, faith,—positively arctic.”
Muriel paused to laugh delightedly at the drollery of the recollection.
“However, let it all go,” she continued. “Only, Emily, beware of being influenced by Fernando. That’s good counsel. For my part, if I catch him at any of his tricks, we shall quarrel outright. I believe I never quarrelled with anybody in my life, and perhaps the experience may be refreshing. But come—business before pleasure. What are you going to do to-day? I must go on a tour—will you come with me?”
“Where are you going?” asked Emily.
“First and foremost, I am on a Pardiggle excursion among two or three families of my parish,” replied Muriel.
Dickens’ “Bleak House,” was coming out in serials at that period, and Muriel, with the rest of the town, was full of it, and was particularly delighted with Mrs. Pardiggle, to whom she jestingly likened herself when she made visits of charity.
“The Pardiggle path will first lead me to poor Mrs. Roux,” continued Muriel. “Mrs. Roux, in Southac street, the wife of the colored man who was here the other day to white-wash the studio. She had another child born a couple of months ago—did I tell you?—and we must take care of the black babies as well as the white ones, you know, and the black mothers, too, as well as the white mothers, most gorgeous honey-darling.”
Emily smiled at the pet name Muriel bestowed upon her, admiringly gazing meanwhile at the fair face, half arch, half serious, which looked at her over the lace ruffle.