Was it his fault that
he was thus tragically defective? So that by the magic power of her
benevolence he became dignified in spite of himself.
She said--
"Mr. Batchgrew, I want you to oblige me by not discussing my affairs
with any one but me."
At that moment the front door closed firmly below, and the bedroom
vibrated.
"Is that Louis going?" she asked.
Batchgrew went to the window and looked downward, lowering the pupils
as far as possible so as to see the pavement.
"It's Louis going," he replied.
Mrs. Maldon sighed relief.
Mr. Batchgrew said no more.
"What were you talking about downstairs to those two?" Mrs. Maldon
went on carefully.
"What d'ye suppose we were talking about?" retorted Batchgrew,
still at the window. Then he turned towards her and proceeded in an
outburst: "If you want to know, missis, I was asking that young wench
what the secret was between you and her."
"The secret? Between Rachel and me?"
"Aye! Ye both know what's happened to them notes, and ye've made it up
between ye to say nowt!"
Mrs. Maldon answered gravely--
"You are quite mistaken. I know nothing, and I'm sure Rachel doesn't.
And we have made nothing up between us. How can you imagine such
things?"
"Why don't ye have the police told?"
"I cannot do with the police in my house.
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