“We could all cut him,” suggested Mrs. North.
“I don’t approve of cutting people, my dear Nita. In a small community it makes things very unpleasant and leads to such uncomfortable situations.” Indeed, Mr. Fothersley had more than once interposed in almost a high-handed manner to prevent Mrs. North cutting ladies of whom she thought she had reason to be jealous. “No, I sincerely wish we had never called, but having called, and indeed invited these people to our houses, received them as guests, I should deprecate cutting them. You agree with me, Roger?”
“Certainly. The Pitheys would not care if you did. Also he is the sort of man who could worry you a good deal in the village if he took it into his head to do so. Better keep good terms with him if you can.”
“What did Miss Seer say?” asked Mrs. North.
“I don’t remember her saying anything, but I was so agitated. I didn’t, of course, even look at her. You don’t think his remarks will give rise to any ideas——” Mr. Fothersley paused, looking from one to the other.
“Good Lord, no!” said North.
“How do you know?” asked his wife sharply. “I should certainly advise Arthur to keep away for the future.”
North shrugged his shoulders as he rose from the table.
“I expect you will like your cigar in the garden with Nita,” he said, pushing the box across the table to his guest. “I’ve got some letters to write.”
When he reached his study he took Ruth’s telegram out of his pocket-book and, lighting a match, burned it very carefully to ashes. “Bless their small minds,” he said.