"The place is full of lies about you," he answered, suddenly and fiercely. "And I _am_ going to defend you. No one else can. They are lies that concern me as well as you." "Will you tell me what they are?" she asked. He saw there was no room for hesitation, and told her what the facts were. As he spoke he felt that they did not improve in the relation, and he saw the blood rise to her cheeks, and a light grow in her eyes. When he had finished the light was a brilliant spark of fire. "It is a charming story," she said. "_We_ will show them what sort of a story it is," he answered, "to-morrow night!" "You are very good to me," she said. Suddenly she put her hand to her side. "Ah!" she exclaimed, "it seems very strange that they should be saying these things of Bertha Amory." She looked at him with a hopeless appeal in her eyes. "Do they all believe them?" she said. "Ah, how can they? They know I was not--like that! I have not done anything! I have been unhappy, but--but I"-- She stopped a moment--or was stopped by her breaking voice. "This has been too much for you," he said. "You are ill, child!" "I have been ill for some time," she answered. "And the last few days have been very hard." She made an effort to recover herself. "I will go to the ball," she said, "if you think it best." "It _is_ best," he replied. "And you need not be afraid"-- "I am not afraid," she interposed, quickly, and the spark of fire showed itself in her eyes again. "I might allow myself to be beaten, if it were not for my children; but, as it is, you will see that I will not be beaten. I will be well for to-morrow night at least. I will not look like a victim. They will see that I am not afraid." "It is they who will be beaten," said Blundel, "if anything depends on me! Confound it! I shall _like_ to do it." CHAPTER XXXVIII. He went home quite eager for the fray, and his eagerness was not allowed to flag. The favorite story came to his ears again and again. Men met him in the streets, and stopped to speak of it; others dropped into his rooms to hear the truth from himself, when he went to his hotel to dine; talkers standing in groups in the lobbies turned to look at him, and when he had passed them returned to their conversation with renewed interest. To the first man who referred to the matter he listened until he had said his say. Then he answered him. "You want to hear the truth about that," he said, "don't you?" "That, of course," was the reply. "And you want to be able to _tell_ the truth about it when you are asked questions?" "Most certainly." "Well, then, the truth is that there isn't a word of truth in it from beginning to end; and if you want to _tell_ the truth, say it's a lie, and add that I said so, and I am prepared to say so to every man who wants to interview me; and, what is more, every man who tells another that it is a lie does me a favor that gives him a claim on me."