"Mr. Wilmerding is rich?" she asked in a moment.
"Dear me, yes—very well off."
"And of high character?"
"An excellent fellow—without a fault."
"I don't understand him, then."
"No more do I!"
"Then what can we do? How can we interfere?" my companion went on.
"That's what I want you to tell me. It's a woman's business—that's why I've tumbled in on you here. You must invent something, you must attempt some thing."
"My dear friend, what on earth do I care for Mr. Wilmerding?"
"You ought to care—he's a knight of romance. Do it for me, then."
"Oh, for you!" my hostess laughed.
"Don't you pity me—doesn't my situation appeal to you?"
"Not a bit! It's grotesque."
"That's because you don't know."
"What is it I don't know?"
"Why, in the first place, what a particularly shabby thing it was to play such a trick on Wilmerding—a gentleman and a man that never injured a fly; and, in the second place, how miserable he'll be and how little comfort he'll have with Veronica."
"What's the matter with Veronica—is she so bad?"
"You know them all—one doesn't want to marry them. Fancy putting oneself deliberately under Mrs. Goldie's heel! The great matter with Veronica is that, left to himself, he would never have dreamed of her. That's enough."
"You say he hasn't a fault," Mrs. Bushbrook replied. "But isn't it rather a fault that he's such a booby?"
