“I didn't heed them. It wasn't a horrid book!”
“It was a horrid book. You left it behind you, and I took it with me. I laid it on my study-table, and went out again. When I came home to dinner, my wife brought it to me and said, 'Oh, Tom, how can you read such books?' 'My dear,' I answered, 'I don't know what is in the book; I haven't read a word of it.'”
“And then you told her where you found it?”
“I did not.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I said to her, 'If it's a bad book, here goes!' and threw it in the fire.”
“Then I'm not to know the end of the story! But I can send to London for another copy! I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Wingfold, for destroying my property!—But you didn't tell her where you found it?”
“I did not. She never asked me.”
Mrs. Wylder was silent. She seemed a little ashamed, perhaps a little softened. Wingfold bade her good-morning. She did not answer him.