"Men generally keep that sort of a woman to themselves," she explained. "A home is usually sacred to the ordinary man."
Theodore was stung to silence. It was a bitter fling, and his thoughts worked rapidly. It took a long moment for his tall figure to get up from the chair.
"Just what do you mean?" he demanded, thrusting his hands into his pockets.
"I don't believe I need tell you any more," she answered.
Theodore stood in the middle of the room as if turned to stone.
"I'm dense, I guess," he admitted huskily.
Angered beyond reason or self-control, Molly pushed the letter away impatiently and stood up.
"Well, if you're so terribly dense, then listen. No man is ever interested in a girl like that unless she is something more to him than a mere----" She broke off, because a dark red flush was spreading in hot waves over the man's face. But bravely she proceeded, "Of course you wouldn't insult your family and your friends by marrying her. Then what conclusion do you want them to draw?"
Theodore looked at her as if she'd suddenly lost her senses. She had cast an aspersion upon the best little soul in God's created world.
"Well, of all the villainous insinuations I ever heard!" he thundered harshly. "My God, woman! Haven't you any soul ... any decency about you?"
The question leaped out of a throat tense with uncontrollable rage. It was couched in language never used to her before, and caused the woman to stagger back. She was about to demand an apology, when Theodore flung out of the room and banged the door behind him.
Molly sat down quickly. Humiliating, angry tears flowed down her cheeks and she made no effort to restrain them. What cared she that Theodore had repudiated her accusation? She felt she had discovered the truth, and nothing more need be said about it.
After growing a little calmer, she saw that she'd made another mistake by enraging Theodore. He had not taken her insults against the girl as she had expected.
Half an hour later she called his office and was informed he was out.
Theodore left Molly more angry than he'd ever been in his life. Instead of making him think less of Jinnie, Molly's aspersions drew him more tenderly toward the girl. As he strode through the road under the trees, his heart burned to see her. He looked at his watch--it was four o'clock. Jinnie had had her lesson in the morning, so he could not call for her at the master's. Just then he saw her walking quickly along the street, and she lifted shy, glad eyes as he spoke her name. By this time his temper had cooled, yet there lingered in his heart the stabbing hurt brought there by Molly's slurs. He felt as if in some way he owed an apology to Jinnie; as if he must make up for harm done her by a vile, gossiping tongue.