Part 117 (1/2)
”Anyway, she's far away from us now,” said Devitt.
”Where has she gone?” asked Miss Spraggs.
”Somewhere in Dorsets.h.i.+re,” Devitt informed her.
”If she hadn't gone, I should have made it my duty to urge her to leave Melkbridge,” remarked Mrs Devitt.
”She's not so bad as all that,” declared Devitt.
”I can't understand why men stand up for loose women,” said his wife.
”She's not a loose woman: far from it. If she were, Windebank would not be so interested in her.”
Devitt could not have said anything more calculated to anger the two women.
Miss Spraggs threw down her pen, whilst Mrs Devitt became white.
”She must be bad to have fascinated Sir Archibald as she has done,” she declared.
”Windebank is no fool,” urged her husband.
”I suppose the next thing we shall hear is that she's living under his protection,” cried Mrs Devitt.
”In St John's Wood,” added Miss Spraggs, whose information on such matters was thirty years behind the times.
”More likely he'll marry her,” remarked Devitt.
”What!” cried the two women.
”I believe he'd give his eyes to get her,” the man continued.
”He's only to ask,” snapped Miss Spraggs.
”Anyway, we shall see,” said Devitt.
”Should that happen, I trust you will never wish me to invite her to the house,” said Mrs Devitt, rising to her full height.
”It's all very sad,” remarked Devitt gloomily.
”It is: that you should take her part in the way you do, Montague,”
retorted his wife.
”I'm sorry if you're upset,” her husband replied. ”But I knew Miss Keeves as a little girl, when she was always laughin' and happy. It's all very, very sad.”
Mrs Devitt moved to a window, where she stood staring out at the foliage which, just now, was looking self-conscious in its new finery.
”Who heard from Harold last?” asked Devitt presently.
”I did,” replied Miss Spraggs. ”It was on Tuesday he wrote.”
”How did he write?”