“Why, you know what Mr. Webster’s habits are, Mrs. Atkins,” said Fernando, lifting his eyebrows with an air of painful regret, in which there was also a bilious sneer. “You are aware of his excessive fondness for old Otard. And then his relations to women”— “I don’t care,” interrupted Mrs. Atkins, bridling with faint excitement. “I don’t care at all, and I think that God gave Mr. Webster some faults to remind us that he is mortal.” This was smart for Mrs. Atkins, and Witherlee, somewhat nonplused, turned pale with spite, and lifted his eyebrows, and shrugged his shoulders with a manner that was equivalent to saying—Oh, if you talk in that way, Mrs. Atkins, there’s no use in wasting words upon you. His manner would have been ineffably maddening to most men, but women are less easily transported beyond control, and Mrs. Atkins, conscious that she had the advantage of Mr. Witherlee in her reply, fanned herself equably and took no notice of his insulting gesture. “For my part,” said Harrington, gravely offended by Witherlee’s remarks, “I deprecate any reflections upon Mr. Webster’s private life. It seems to me that our concern is with his public acts, and not with his personal habits.” “Oh, you’re a gentleman, Mr. Harrington,” said Mrs. Atkins, in a tone that implied that Mr. Witherlee was not. Witherlee looked at Mrs. Atkins with parted lips, and still, opaque eyes, white with spleen, but perfectly cool. “Now, fellow-citizens, what’s the row?” blithely said Muriel, approaching the circle with her mother. “Oh, cousin Muriel!” exclaimed Julia, “how can you talk in that way. It’s so low!” “So it is, dear,” archly replied Muriel, “shockingly low, and you must be warned by my example.” Julia looked a little foolish, and smiled. “We were discussing, Mr. Webster,” said Fernando, tranquilly. “Oh, Mr. Webster,” said Muriel; “I used to admire him very much when I was a girl.” “It’s a pity you don’t now, Muriel,” said Mrs. Atkins, “for he deserves to be admired, I’m sure.” “Yes, aunt, but I never recovered from a shock he gave me in my ‘sallet days, when I was green in judgment,’” replied Muriel. “A shock? Dear me! I can’t imagine Mr. Webster shocking anybody,” drawled Caroline, with weak surprise.