Chapter Eleven.
A Night Gossip.
As has been pointed out, the artist was a quiet man, and the tranquil life of the little village was exactly to his taste. Mrs Drinkwater looked well after his few wants, and until the disturbance at the mill, when Drinkwater had been turned off, there had been nothing to trouble him. Since that occurrence, however, he had frequently come across his landlady with traces of tears in her eyes, and that evening when after parting with the two lads he reached the pretty cottage, she came out to meet him at the gate.
“Oh, Mr Manners, sir,” she said, “I’m afraid I’m afraid—”
“Afraid what of, Mrs Drinkwater?”
“I’m afraid that something’s happened to my man. He has not been home to-day.”
The artist led the poor woman into the kitchen.
“Sit down, Mrs Drinkwater,” he said, kindly. “Now just listen to me. I, too, am deeply concerned about Drinkwater. Can’t you reason with him—make him see how wrong all this behaviour is, and convince him that he has only one sensible thing to do, namely, go and ask pardon of Mr Willows?”