"Say you believe it," begged the woman, when I handed her letter back to her.
"Whether 'tis true or not can quickly be proved," I answered. "And if it's true, then Spider's foolisher and wickeder than I thought him."
"I don't care how wicked he is so long as he's alive," she said.
"His one excuse for leaving you was to be drownded in the Dart, and if he ain't drownded, he's done a damn shameful thing to desert you," I told her. "However, you can put it to the proof. The world is full of little, black, ugly, hairy men like your husband, so you needn't be too hopeful; but I do believe it's true. Of course somebody may have seen his ghost; and to go and wander about at Meldon is just a silly thing his ghost might do; but I believe he's there—the fool."
"Where's Meldon Quarry?" she asked, and I told her.
"Beside Meldon Viaduct, on the railroad over Okehampton way. And what the mischief will you say to the wretch if you do find him?"
"Be very, very angry," answered Jenny—in a voice like a sucking dove.
"I'm sorry for Bill Westaway," I said, "He'd have made a much finer husband for you."
But she shook her head impatiently.
"I hate him!" she vowed. "I couldn't say for why, exactly; but there's something about him—"