keeping her glasses to her eye, she suddenly dug at his ribs with her trumpet.
"My dear Lady Hammergallow!"
"I thought so. Don't think I would blame you, Mr. Hillyer." She gave a corrupt laugh that she delighted in. "The world is the world, and men are men. And the poor boy's a cripple, eh? A kind of judgment. In mourning, I noticed. It reminds me of the 'Scarlet Letter.' The mother's dead, I suppose. It's just as well. Really—I'm not a narrow woman—I respect you for having him. Really I do."
"But, Lady Hammergallow!"
"Don't spoil everything by denying it. It is so very, very plain, to a woman of the world. That Mrs. Mendham! She amuses me with her suspicions. Such odd ideas! In a Curate's wife. But I hope it didn't happen when you were in orders."
"Lady Hammergallow, I protest. Upon my word."
"Mr. Hillyer, I protest. I know. Not anything you can say will alter my opinion one jot. Don't try. I never suspected you were nearly such an interesting man."
"But this suspicion is unendurable!"
"We will help him together, Mr. Hillyer. You may rely upon me. It is most romantic." She beamed benevolence.
"But, Lady Hammergallow, I must speak!"
She gripped her ear-trumpet resolutely, and held it before her and shook her head.
"He has quite a genius for music, Vicar, so I hear?"
"I can assure you most solemnly———"
201
