“After last night’s scandal,” said she in her deepest bass.
“Last night’s scandal!” he echoed.
“Hush!” she cried, “I will not have the innocence of my child further contaminated——”
“Contaminated, madam!”
“Contaminated, sir! Ask Mrs. Marvel, Dr. Tutterville! Ask your niece!”
She brushed past, hustling Priscilla before her.
“A most unpleasant female,” thought the parson, endeavouring to dismiss Mrs. Geary from his mind. But she had left a disturbing impression, which was presently to be heightened. In response to a message, courteous, but firm, informing him at what hour the chaise would await him, Mr. Villars next presented himself before the rector and interrupted him in the midst of some of his sad business details.
“Sir?” said the parson, at the same time arresting by a gesture the withdrawing of the bailiff with whom he was then in consultation. “In what can I be of service?”
“My dear Dr. Tutterville, I came to offer my services to you.”
“You are vastly obliging, Mr. Villars. The best service friends can render a house of mourning is to leave it to itself.”