Prudence turned a little to face Mr Rensley. There was danger confronting her, as well she knew. She said quietly: “I spoke to Mr Devereux, sir, I believe.”
“Your words were not meant for my ears I make no doubt,” said Rensley evilly.
Prudence bowed. “You apprehend the matter correctly, sir.”
There was a certain air of tense expectation in the room. Prudence felt that she was on her trial. God knew how it would end!
Mr Rensley might well let be now. He looked sullenly at Prudence, and thought that he heard a whisper in the group behind her. There had been too much whispering of late; very badly did Mr Rensley want to avenge himself on someone. He was not ill pleased to take Prudence for a scapegoat. This young ruffler gave himself insufferable airs: it was time he was taught a lesson. Mr Rensley spoke more offensively still. “I see, Mr Merriot, that you don’t care to repeat your words.”
There fell a sudden stillness. “I do not, Mr Rensley.”
“On what grounds, Mr Merriot, I wonder?”
“On the grounds, Mr Rensley, of good manners.”
Rensley flushed. “In which you think me lacking, eh?”
“I have not told you so, sir.”