"I assure you that is a mistake. I am that harmless, and necessary person, the repeater of platitudes."
She shuddered. "Don't repeat them to me, please, I hate copy-book phrases."
"Yet what good sense they contain. Your remark about the horse is one, and is absolutely true."
"So true," she mocked, "as to make the statement unnecessary." She turned to purchase a bag of dog-biscuits. "Are we fighting a verbal duel, Mr. Vance?"
"It would seem so, Miss Monk, but the buttons are on our foils."
With the bag in her arms, she wheeled nervously. "Why do you say that?" and there was apprehension in her dark eyes.
"I speak for the sake of speaking."
"No," her anxious eyes searched my face, "you are not that kind of man. If you----" she stopped and bit her lip, and with a curt nod walked rapidly out of the shop followed by Puddles. I did not attempt to follow, as I saw that my cryptic speech had interested her, and wished to give her time to think over my personality. While I remained in her thoughts, there was every hope that she would seek me again. Better that she should be afraid of me, than indifferent to me.
And as I sauntered back to The Robin Redbreast, I felt convinced that she was afraid of me: my dark sayings had made her afraid. At our first meeting under the tin roof of Miss Destiny's hovel, I had seen the fear in her eyes, and at this second meeting I saw it again, more apparent. But, what could she be afraid of in connection with me? There was only one common-sense answer: Gertrude Monk was the lady who had stolen my motor-car, and who had--but no; I could not bring myself to believe the worst, even in the face of the obvious certainty that she was concealing something, which had to do with the weird circumstances at Mootley. She would explain when the time came, and that would be when she was sufficiently well acquainted with me to regard Mrs. Gilfin's eulogy as justified. Then--well I would wait until then, for in the pursuit of the impossible, I was developing a fine quality of patience.
During the next few days, I occasionally met Miss Destiny and her servant in the village. They went shopping together, and the little old lady beat down the prices of everyone, however cheap the goods she wanted might originally be. I believe she enjoyed the squabble, and certainly her tongue clacked from morning to night in the endeavor to get her own sordid way. She was a miser, pure and simple, and had contracted the disease--for that it was--from the late Gabriel Monk. Everyone hated Miss Destiny, for in addition to being avaricious, she had a desperately evil tongue, and dealt with one and all from the point of view of a misanthrope. That is, she never said a good word of anyone, but babbled out many bad ones, so that she set people by the ears constantly. She might have abused me, for all I knew, but if she did, her demeanor to my face was extremely pleasant. When we met, she always hinted roguishly at my love for her niece, and chaffed me about the same. At times I wondered if she discussed my presence at Burwain with Gertrude. I thought not, as my meetings with the goddess were always marked by a perfectly unembarrassed manner on her part. Moreover, aunt and niece did not get on well together, and only exchanged formal visits. Miss Destiny--as I gathered from Mrs. Gilfin's ready tongue--had never forgiven Gertrude for inheriting the missing fortune, and always expressed herself pleased that it could not be found.