The little man was disappointed. I could see that. I dare say he put it down to me being jealous of him; but he never mentioned the subject again. Only, after that, he was always making some nasty remark or other, and if ever I had an opinion about anything, he always started arguing the other way. I knew I had offended him; but you can’t help offending somebody now and then, if you’ve got any spirit of your own. I’m sorry I ever let him give me any information at all. I dare say he’ll go to his grave believing that he’s as much the author of these tales about the ‘Stretford Arms’ as I am myself.
It was through this having happened that made Mr. Wilkins so nasty about the young lady’s lover. At another time he would have sided with me. He didn’t drop it even the next day, for in the evening, when the room was full, he pulled out a newspaper, and asked me if I’d seen the case in the police-court, of an actor having pawned the sheets from his lodgings.
I saw he was going to begin again, so I said “Mr. Wilkins, will you let me have a word with you, please?” and I beckoned him outside the door.
Then I said to him, “Mr. Wilkins, what you heard yesterday about that young lady’s affairs was a private conversation between me and my husband. You’ll oblige me by not referring to it again. I can’t have ladies and gentlemen who stay at this hotel talked over in the bar-parlour—at least, not their private affairs, which you have only learned through being considered a friend of ours.”
He winced a little. But he said, “Mrs. Beckett, ma’am, I hope I know myself better than to do anything that is not right and gentlemanly.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wilkins,” I said; and then we went in, and if that horrid Graves the farrier didn’t say, “All right, Wilkins, I’ll tell Mr. Beckett.” And then they all roared, and that wretched little Wilkins giggled, and said, “They’re only jealous, aren’t they, Mrs. Beckett?”
I declare I could have boxed his ears. I went quite red, and then they all roared again. And that Graves said, “All right, we won’t tell this time; but, Wilkins, old man, you must be careful. Beckett’s got a pistol.”
I gave Graves a look, and went into the bar. I’m glad he doesn’t come often; he ought to go to the tap-room at the other house. It’s more in his line.
But about the poor young lady, whose lover was an actor——
* * * * *