“Indeed, I beg you will do no such thing, Mr Parkley,” said Dutch hotly, as his face burned with mortification. “I understand what you mean, sir, and can assure you that your suspicions are unjust.”
“I’m very glad to hear you say so, Pugh, I am indeed,” said Mr Parkley earnestly. “Don’t be angry with me, my dear boy. I’m getting old—stupid, I suppose. There, don’t take any more notice of what I said.”
Under these circumstances it was hard work for Dutch Pugh to preserve an unclouded face before his guests, but he strove hard—the harder that he was annoyed at people for having the same fancies as those he had tried so hard to banish. It was, then, with no small feeling of pleasure that he welcomed the time when his guests departed, but even then he was not to be spared a fresh wound, for on taking Bessy Studwick down to the fly she said to him in a low voice:
“Dutch, I have been trying so hard to-night to love your wife. I do so hope you will be very happy.”
“Thank you, Bessy, thank you,” he said warmly. “I’m sure you wish me well.”
“I do, I do, indeed,” she whispered earnestly, “and therefore I say I do not like your new friend, that foreign gentleman. He is treacherous: I am sure he is. Good-night.”
“Good-night!” said Dutch to himself as he stood on the gravel path with the gate in his hand listening to the departed wheels; and then in spite of his determination the flood of evil fancies came rolling back, sweeping all before it.
“They all see it, and think me blind,” he groaned as he literally reeled against the gate. “Those thoughts, then, were a warning—one I would not heed. Hester—Hester—my love,” he moaned as he pressed his hands to his forehead. “Oh, my God, that it should come to this!”
He stood leaning against the gate post for a few minutes in a stunned, dazed way, but recovering himself he clenched his hands and exclaimed through his teeth:
“I will not believe it. She could not be no false.”