WHITEWASH
you know, nervous! I suppose you brought Morton down to hear what I have to say? Glad of it, glad of it." He paused, fixed his piercing black eyes on Morton.
Mrs. Durham had seated herself calmly. But Morton remained erect, towering above his rapid-firing uncle by a full head and a half.
"You're not engaged to her, are you?" Courncey demanded, suddenly suspicious. "I heard rumors, you know—rumors. But I denied them, of course. Still, before we go any further: Are you here as Victoria's friend to run down that cowardly lie, or are you trying to clear that snivelling little cat, Philippa Ford?"
"Uncle Morris." he answered, simply. "I am engaged to Miss Ford, but"—and the faintest hesitation trembled in his words—"I want to know the truth. Mrs. Durham has accused the young lady of dining in a notorious restaurant with a—well, in questionable company, while she was professing her love for me, and had been engaged only a few days. And Miss Ford positively denies this."
"But she did—she did!" cried the little man.
