minor juggernaut.

"Sorry you heard it," lied the young man readily.

"Such a flexible little car--picks up before one realizes," conceded
Whitewater's acknowledged social dictator. "But what I wanted to say is
this: that poor daft partner of yours has mortally offended every woman in
town except three, with that silly screed of his. I've seen nearly all of
them that count this morning, or they've called me by telephone. Now,
why couldn't he have had the advice of some good, capable woman before
committing himself so rabidly?"

"Who were the three?" queried Mr. Evans.

"Oh, poor Genevieve, of course; she goes without saying. And
you'd guess the other two if you knew them better--his cousin, Alys
Brewster-Smith, and poor Genevieve's Cousin Emelene. They both have his
horrible school-boy composition committed to memory, I do believe.

"Cousin Emelene recited most of it to me with tears in her weak eyes, and
Alys tells me his noble words have made the world seem like a different
place to her. She said she had been coming to believe that chivalry of the
old true brand was dying out, but that dear Cousin George has renewed her
faith in it.

"Think of poor Genevieve when they both fall on his neck. They're going up
for that particular purpose this afternoon. The only two in town, mind you,
except poor Genevieve. Oh, it's too awfully bad, because aside from this
medieval view of his, George was probably as acceptable for this office as
any man could be."