When she was quite out of hearing, the flustered parson lowered his voice and said to Courtney:
"They—er—don't get along very well, you see. I couldn't explain while she was here. Something to do with money matters,—nothing of consequence, I assure you,—but very distressing, most distressing. It is too bad,—too bad."
Mrs. Pollock overheard. "They're both terribly set in their ways," she remarked. "Stubborn as mules. For my part, I think Alix is too silly for words about it. Especially with his mother living in the same house with her. Now, mind you, I'm not saying anything against Alix. I love her. But just the same, she can be the most unreasonable—"
"They haven't spoken to each other for over three years," inserted Angie Miller. "When they were children they were almost inseparable. David Windom took a fancy to little David. The story is that he was trying to ease his conscience by being nice to a blacksmith's son. You see, his own daughter ran away with a blacksmith's son,—and you've heard what happened, Mr. Thane. David was in my class for two years before he went up to High School, and I remember he always used to get long letters from Alix when she was in England. Then, when she came home,—she was about twelve I think,—they were great friends. Always together, playing, studying, reading, riding and—"
"Everybody used to say old David Windom was doing his best to make a match of it," interrupted Mrs. Pollock, who had been out of the conversation longer than she liked. "Up to the time the old man died, we used to take it for granted that some day they would get married,—but, my goodness, it's like waving a red flag at a bull to even mention his name to Alix now. She hates him,—and I guess he hates her."
"Oh, my dear friend," cried Mr. Mavity, "I really don't think you ought to say that. Hate is a very dreadful word. I am sure Alix is incapable of actually hating any one. And as for David, he is kindness, gentleness itself. It is just one of those unfortunate situations that cannot be accounted for."
Charlie Webster came up at that juncture.
"Say, Court, why didn't you tell 'em about the time you called Colonel What's-His-Name down,—the French guy that—" The scowl on Courtney's brow silenced the genial Charlie. He coughed and sputtered for a moment or two and then said something about "taking a joke."
As Charlie moved away, Miss Angie Miller sniffed and said, without appreciably lowering her voice:
"I wonder where he gets it. There isn't supposed to be a drop in Windomville." Suddenly her eyes flew wide open. "Furman! Oh, Furman Hatch!" she called out to a man who was sidling toward the door in the wake of the pernicious Mr. Webster.