"I grant you she's pretty and pleasant, but she won't have a sou, and—well, Medland's a very clever fellow and very distinguished. But——"
"No, I know. They're not our sort."
"Then of course it's no use blinking the fact that there's something wrong. I don't know what, but something."
"Did Kilshaw tell you that?"
"Yes, between ourselves, he did. He wouldn't tell me what, but said he knew what he was talking about, and that I'd better tell you that you and all of us would be very sorry before long if we had anything to do with the Medlands."
"What the deuce does he mean?" asked Dick fretfully.
"Well, you know the sort of gossip that's about. Compare that with what Kilshaw said."
"What gossip?"
"Nonsense! You know well enough. It's impossible to live here without noticing that everybody thinks there's something wrong. I believe Kilshaw knows what it is, and, what's more, that he means to have it out some day. However that may be, rumours of the sort there are about are by themselves enough to stop any wise man."