“Really, Mr Walton, I am astonished at your making such a request!” exclaimed Mrs Oldcastle, with suitable emphasis on every salient syllable, while her white face flushed with anger. “To ask Miss Oldcastle to accompany you to the dwelling of the ringleader of all the canaille of the neighbourhood!”
“It is for the sake of justice,” I interposed.
“That is no concern of ours. Let them fight it out between them, I am sure any trouble that comes of it is no more than they all deserve. A low family—men and women of them.”
“I assure you, I think very differently.”
“I daresay you do.”
“But neither your opinion nor mine has anything to do with the matter.”
Here I turned to Miss Oldcastle and went on—
“It is a chance which seldom occurs in one’s life, Miss Oldcastle—a chance of setting wrong right by a word; and as a minister of the gospel of truth and love, I beg you to assist me with your presence to that end.”
I would have spoken more strongly, but I knew that her word given to me would be enough without her presence. At the same time, I felt not only that there would be a propriety in her taking a personal interest in the matter, but that it would do her good, and tend to create a favour towards each other in some of my flock between whom at present there seemed to be nothing in common.
But at my last words, Mrs Oldcastle rose to her feet no longer red—now whiter than her usual whiteness with passion.