“Yes, but I don’t believe it. How d’you know he didn’t? It’s not a thing he’d own to. Who told you?”
“Madala. Madala herself. She used to make a joke of it.”
“She never showed when she was hurt,” said the Baxter girl emotionally.
“Yes, but it almost seemed as if she were not hurt, as if her—her sensitiveness, her better feelings, had been blunted. I’ve known her use it as a weapon almost,” said Anita conscientiously recollecting. “He—that annoyed me so—he was very peremptory with her sometimes, most rude in his manner. Of course, you know, she was dreamy. Not that that excused him for a moment. I remember a regular scene——”
“Before you?” Miss Howe cast instant doubt upon it.
“My room was next to theirs. I could hear them through the wall. I can assure you that he stormed at her in a most ungentlemanly way——”
“What about?” said the Baxter girl breathlessly.
“Something about his razors. A parcel had come by the early post, and just because she had cut the string—but I couldn’t follow it all. He was a man who was easily irritated by trifles. Well, as I say, after he had raged at her for five minutes or more, till I could have gone in and spoken to him myself, all that that patient woman said, was—‘Darling, have you begun Eden Walls yet?’ I tell you the man never said another word.”
“He didn’t prevent her writing, did he?” said Miss Howe.
“There’s no doubt that he discouraged her. He was selfish. It was his wretched doctoring all day long—and you know how sensitive Madala was. I did persuade her to do some work while I was staying with them, but I soon saw that it was labour thrown away. Her heart wasn’t in it. When it wasn’t Carey it was the baby clothes. For the sake of her reputation,” her voice hardened, “it’s as well that she has died when she has.”