"A little, madam."
"And a trifle rough to everything but his dogs?"
"A trifle, madam."
Such reticence seemed unnecessary. I was almost angry, but restrained myself and pursued quietly, "The girls, on the contrary, seem devoted to him?"
"Women have that weakness."
"And act as if they would do—what would they not do for him?"
"Miss Butterworth, I have never seen a more amiable woman than yourself. Will you promise me one thing?"
His manner was respect itself, his smile genial and highly contagious. I could not help responding to it in the way he expected.
"Do not talk to me about this family. It is a painful subject to me. Lucetta—you know the girl, and I shall not be able to prejudice you against her—has conceived the idea that I encourage William in an intimacy of which she does not approve. She does not want him to talk to me. William has a loose tongue in his head and sometimes drops unguarded words about their doings, which if any but William spoke—But there, I am forgetting one of the most important rules of my own life, which is to keep my mouth from babbling and my tongue from guile. Influence of a congenial companion, madam; it is irresistible sometimes, especially to a man living so much alone as myself."
I considered his fault very pardonable, but did not say so lest I should frighten his confidences away.