'Still he may have deserved all he got.'
'No; he mayn't. You wouldn't punish a man for murder because he doesn't pay his debts.'
'I won't have it that he's innocent,' said Mrs. Babington.
'Who the devil is, if you come to that?'
'You are not, or you wouldn't talk in that way. I'm not saying anything now against John. If he didn't marry the woman I suppose they'll let him out of prison, and I for one shall be willing to take him by the hand; but to say he's innocent is what I won't put up with!'
'He has sown his wild oats, and he's none the worse for that. He's as good as the rest of us, I dare say.'
'Speak for yourself,' said the wife. 'I don't suppose you mean to tell me that in the eyes of the Creator he is as good a man as Augustus.'
'Augustus be ––––.' The word was spoken with great energy. Mrs. Babington at the moment was employed in sewing a button on the wristband of her husband's shirt, and in the start which she gave stuck the needle into his arm.
'Humphrey!' exclaimed the agitated lady.
'I beg your pardon, but not his,' said the squire, rubbing the wound. 'If he says a word more about John Caldigate in my presence, I shall tell him what I think about it. He has got his wife, and that ought to be enough for him.'