“James, my darling, you shouldn’t. How can you say such dreadful things?”
“You make me—being such a fool.”
“James!”
“Hold your tongue, do. Yes, I must have inquiries made.”
“But do you feel quite sure that they have eloped like that?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, thoughtfully; “there’s no doubt about it.”
“I don’t know, my dear,” said Mrs Wilton, plaintively. “It seems so strange, when she was so ill and in such trouble.”
“Bah! Sham! Like all women, kicking up a row about the first kiss, and wanting it all the time.”
“James, my dear, you shouldn’t say such things. It was no sham. She was in dreadful trouble, I’m sure, and I cannot help thinking about the pike pond. It haunts me—it does indeed. Don’t you think that in her agony she may have gone and drowned herself?”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Wilton, with a scowl at his wife.