“Which woman?” said Mr. Barringcourt, sitting down on the opposite side of the fireplace.
“That fool who nearly spoilt everything last night by having too long a tongue.”
The wine surely had had a heating effect.
“Miss Paleaf?”
“Yes. The one I took rather a fancy to at the Sebberens’, and asked you to introduce me to.” And he laughed cynically.
“Oh,” said Mr. Barringcourt easily, “you’ll let that die down. Set a constant guard of two priests to watch the curtain. Such vigilance will satisfy the people. Besides, Crokerly is doing the work of the panelling, and none can do it like him. You can’t afford to quarrel with him over the mischiefmaking propensities of a woman.”
“Do you mean to say you would look lightly on her conduct of last night?”
“Of course! She did you no harm. It’s herself she’s harmed, as she’ll find out as time goes on. It’s always best to be a bit forbearing with women; they’re given to flying off rather unexpectedly at times.”
“No excuse. No excuse at all. She did it from malicious intention and love of meddling.”
“What do you propose to do, then? Tear her tongue out?”