“Fisher talks for a dozen people besides himself. Mr Mannering is his landlord, is he not?”
“Ah, yes, yes. Mr Robert is a thoroughly upright man,” said Mr Bennett, vaguely. “Never in my life saw any one so pleased as he was when I took him out news of what that poor Stephens had said,—never. Well, I was always certain something would set that matter straight.”
“You at least acted as if it had never been crooked,” Anthony said warmly, at once.
“Don’t say anything about it,” said Mr Bennett, getting red and uncomfortable. “There’s another thing I’m afraid is crooked, which—which I’m ashamed to talk to you about, that’s the long and short of it. I never thought I could be driven to fence and shuffle over any business as I’ve been shuffling now. I’d sooner bite my tongue out than tell it. But there’s the thing,—past my altering, and I’ve the shame of it, if that’s any comfort to you.”
The man was speaking in short sharp sentences, as unlike as possible to his usual genial rather over-familiar manner. Some presentiment seemed to seize Anthony, and his face grew hard.
“Well, what is it?” he said in the deep tone he sometimes used.
“I wouldn’t have had this to tell you for half a years income.”
“If it has to be told I can’t see that any good can be caused by delay.”
Certainly Anthony’s manner was not encouraging. “I only hope you will exonerate me and her aunt,” said Mr Bennett, nervously.
“Then it’s about Ada?” said Anthony, after a moment’s pause.