“Be seated, Mrs. Gillingwater,” he said in a quiet voice, “and tell me what you mean by coming to make a disturbance here.”
“I mean that I want to see you, sir,” she answered sullenly, “and that I won’t be driven away from your door like a dog. Once for all I tell you, sir, that you’d better be careful how you treat me, for if you turn dirty to me, I’ll turn dirty to you. It’s only the dead that don’t speak, sir, and I’m very much alive, I am.” Then she paused and added threateningly, “You can’t treat me as I’ve heard say you did another, Mr. Levinger.”
“Have you quite done?” he asked. “Very well, then; be so good as to listen to me: you can tell nothing about me, for the best of all possible reasons, that you know nothing. On the other hand, Mrs. Gillingwater, I can, if necessary, tell something about you perhaps you may remember to what I refer, if not I can refresh your memory ah! I see that there is no need. A moment’s reflection will show you that you are entirely in my power. If you dare to make any attack upon my character, or even to repeat such a disturbance as you have just caused, I will ruin you and drive you to the workhouse, where, except for me, you would have been long ago. In earnest of what I say, your husband will receive to-morrow a summons for the rent that he owes me, and a notice to quit my house. I trust that I have made myself clear.”
Mrs. Gillingwater knew Mr. Levinger well enough to be aware that he would keep his word if she drove him to it; and, growing frightened at the results of her own violence, she began to whimper.
“You never would be so cruel as to deal with a poor woman like that, sir,” she said. “If I’ve spoken rash and foolish it’s because I’m as full of troubles as a thistle-head with down; yes, I’m driven mad, that’s what I am. What with having lost the license, and that brute of a husband of mine always drunk, and Joan, my poor Joan, who was like a daughter to me, a-dying:——
“What did you say?” said Mr. Levinger. “Stop that snivelling, woman, and tell me.”
“Now you see, sir, that you would have done foolish to send me away,” Mrs. Gillingwater jerked out between her simulated sobs, “with the news that I had to tell you. Not as I can understand why it should trouble you, seeing that of course the poor dear ain’t nothing to you; though if it had been Sir Henry Graves that I’d gone to, it wouldn’t have been surprising.”
“Will you tell me what you are talking about?” broke in Mr. Levinger, striking his stick upon the floor. “Come, out with it: I’m not to be trifled with.”
Mrs. Gillingwater glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes, wondering if it would be safe to keep up the game any longer. Coming to an adverse conclusion, she produced Mrs. Bird’s letter, saying, “This is what told me about it, sir.”
He took, or rather snatched the letter from her hand, and read it through with eagerness. Apparently its contents moved him deeply, for he muttered, “Poor girl! to think of her being so ill! Pray Heaven she may not die.” Then he sat down at the table, and taking a telegram form, he filled it in as follows: