"You've put your foot in it this time," he began.
"What is it?" I cried in alarm.
"Old Brown—Violet's father—wants to slay you. His wife heard from Mrs. Wylie that you said to Wylie that he, Brown, had the intellect of a boiled rabbit."
"That's bad," I said in dismay. "The old fool was talking puerile rubbish about the wickedness of the working-classes. Wylie was there, and after Brown had gone I did make the impatient remark that he had the intellect of a boiled rabbit. But, Good Lord! I didn't want the thing to go back to his ears. How I can ever look the man in the face again I don't know."
"You should have thought of that before you spoke," said Macdonald with a smile.
"Oh," I replied, "I don't regret saying it in the least; at the time I felt it was the only thing to say. What I regret is the meanness of Wylie or his wife. Brown is a decent old chap, and I'm rather fond of him. Why the devil are people so dirty in mind, Macdonald? We all say things that we don't want carried to the person we are speaking about. I say things about you that I would hate you to hear, and I guess that you are in a similar position with regard to me. But the unpardonable social crime is to tell one man what another has said about him. It's the lowest down trick I know."
"What'll you do about it?"
"I'll go straight down to Brown and apologise for Wylie's bad taste."
"And your own!"
"Not at all. I'll tell him I've said worse things than that about him, but I'll implore him not to let them make any difference in our friendship."