When his sister had pressed him to take
her message about the money, he had assured her that he suspected her
of no evil. Nor had he ever thought evil of her. Since her marriage
with Mr. Kennedy, he had seen but little of her or of her ways of
life. When she had separated herself from her husband he had approved
of the separation, and had even offered to assist her should she
be in difficulty. While she had been living a sad lonely life at
Dresden, he had simply pitied her, declaring to himself and his wife
that her lot in life had been very hard. When these calumnies about
her and Phineas Finn had reached his ears,--or his eyes,--as such
calumnies always will reach the ears and eyes of those whom they are
most capable of hurting, he had simply felt a desire to crush some
Quintus Slide, or the like, into powder for the offence. He had
received Phineas in his own house with all his old friendship. He had
even this morning been with the accused man as almost his closest
friend. But, nevertheless, there was creeping into his heart a sense
of the shame with which he would be afflicted, should the world
really be taught to believe that the man had been his sister's lover.
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