The listener arched his eyebrows more and more.
‘What can it matter to you?’
’To be sure, I have no acquaintance with any
one who could do such things—’
’Why, of course not. And even if you had,
I understand that the girl is long out of her teens—’
‘Long since.’
’Then it’s her own affair—and
that of the man who cares to purchase such amusement.
By-the-bye, it happens rather oddly that I myself
have to run over to Brussels on business; but I trust’—he
laughed—’that my years and my character—’
’Oh, Mr. Mankelow, absurd! It’s probably
some commercial traveller, or man of that sort, don’t
you think? The one thing I do hope is,
that, if anything like this happens, the girl will
somehow make it clear to her friends that I
had no knowledge whatever of what was going on.
But that can hardly be hoped, I fear!—’
Their eyes crossed; they stood for a moment perusing
vacancy.
‘Yes, I think it might be hoped,’ said
Mankelow airily. ’She seemed to me a rather
reckless sort of young person. It’s highly
probable she will write letters which release every
one but herself from responsibility. In fact’—he
gazed at her with a cynical smile— ’my
knowledge of human nature disposes me to assure you
that she certainly will. She might even, I should
say, write a letter to you—perhaps
a cheeky sort of letter, which would at once set your
mind at ease.’
‘Oh, if you really take that view—’
’I do indeed. Don’t you think we
might dismiss the matter, and dine?’
They did so.
Until noon of to-day, Mrs. Peachey had kept her bed,
lying amid the wreck wrought by last night’s
madness. She then felt well enough to rise, and
after refreshment betook herself by cab to the offices
of Messrs Ducker, Blunt & Co., manufacturers of disinfectants,
where she conversed with one of the partners, and
learnt that her husband had telegraphed his intention
to be absent for a day or two. Having, with the
self-respect which distinguished her, related her story
from the most calumnious point of view, she went home
again to nurse her headache and quarrel with Fanny.
But Fanny had in the meantime left home, and, unaccountable
fact, had taken with her a large tin box and a dress-basket;
heavily packed, said the servants. Her direction
to the cabman was merely Westminster Bridge, which
conveyed to Mrs. Peachey no sort of suggestion.
When Beatrice came back, and learnt this event, she
went apart in wrathful gloom. Ada could not engage
her in a quarrel. It was a wretchedly dull evening.
They talked next morning, and Beatrice announced her
purpose of going to live by herself as soon as possible.
But she would not quarrel. Left alone, Ada prepared
to visit certain of their relatives in different parts
of London, to spread among them the news of her husband’s
infamy.
