"John Hendle's will," repeated the Squire, greatly taken aback by this sudden display of knowledge on the part of his cousin.
"Yes! Don't pretend that I am talking nonsense; you know better."
Hendle gradually collected his scattered thoughts, and rose slowly to his feet. Then, quite in a mechanical way, he took out pipe and tobacco pouch. "I should like to know who told you," he remarked, filling the bowl.
"You shall know--Mrs. Beatson told me."
"And how did she know?"
"As women generally know things they are not meant to learn--by eavesdropping. You understand. She listened to the conversation between you and the parson, when he dined at The Big House, on the evening before his death."
"He did dine with me," admitted Hendle seriously. "And he did tell me about the discovery of the will you mention. But why did Mrs. Beatson listen, since she could not have guessed what he was going to speak about."
"It seems to me, Rupert, that you are asking questions, whereas it is my right to do so. However, to make things clear, I don't mind in the least answering you. Mrs. Beatson explained to me, in excuse for her eavesdropping, that you had told her of your approaching marriage with Dorinda, and she was afraid lest you should turn her out."
"I told her I wouldn't."
"Oh, did you? Then evidently she did not believe you, and hovered round the dining-room and drawing-room, hoping to hear anything you might say to the vicar on the subject. Leigh hinted at some mystery he had to impart to you. Mrs. Beatson heard his remark through the open door of the dining-room and it aroused her curiosity. When you went to the drawing-room, she was outside the window drinking in every word."