“I'm afraid that our old friend Brookes is having a hard time of it,” said the General, taking the spectacles from his nose, and laying down the St James's, “they are all at him tooth and nail,” and the General laughed gleefully. “You are the young man who has upset them. The young lady won't dress herself.”
“My dear Reggie, you shouldn't talk like that. I do hate to hear scandal; you'll repent it,” said Mrs. Horlock, and she adroitly smoothed the wax on the horse's quarters.
“I assure you, Mrs. Horlock, I never repeat what I hear; the guiding principle of my life is not to repeat conversations. Particularly in a village like Southwick, it is most essential that none of us should repeat conversations; I have always said that.”
“Do tell me about Maggie; I hear she is very ill. What is the matter with her? What did you say—the young lady won't dress herself?”
“My dear Reggie, I will not stay here and listen to scandal. Not a word of it is true, Mr. Escott.”
“What is not true, Mrs. Horlock?”
“What he told you about her walking about the house with her hair down.”
“I don't think the General said anything about walking about the house with her hair down; he said some one wouldn't dress herself. I suppose he meant Maggie. I am sure I am sorry—I am most sorry—to hear she is ill, but it is unjust to assume that I had anything to do with her illness. We can speak freely among ourselves, you know. You know the circumstances; no one is more capable of understanding the case than you, for you are an artist. Maggie heard that I had had a model, that's what it amounts to, and she broke off the engagement; nothing could be more unjust, nothing could be more unwarranted.”
“It could be brought on again, I know that,” said Mrs. Horlock, and she turned the shoulders of her horse to the light.
“We will not go into that question, Mrs. Horlock. I confine myself to what has happened, and I say I was treated unjustly, most shamefully; and when I have been cast aside like an old hat, I hear indirectly that it can be made up again. I have borne quite enough, and will bear no more. Old Brookes came down to my studio with that cad Berkins, and forced his way in, and then forbade me the house because my dog bit Berkins's thigh. I couldn't help it. What did he attack me for? He didn't suppose a bull-dog would be still while his master was being knocked on the head.”