‘Why, I never said what the gossip was.’
‘No, but I know. You’re not a saint, Sir Watkin.’
‘Nor you either. The people, somehow or other, had got it into their heads that I behaved badly to a Sloville girl.’
‘A thing you could never think of doing,’ said his friend, with affected indignation.
‘No, it is too near home,’ said the Baronet.
‘But you know I have always said to you that the way in which you went on with women would, one day or other, get you into a scrape. Stick to the married ones, and leave the young ones alone. That is my plan. If you get into a mess then, the woman is bound to help you out. The chances, you see, are two to one in your favour. But there is a better plan still.’
‘What is that?’
‘Leave ’em alone. They all mean mischief.’
‘Well, it is not everyone who is such a cool hand as you are.’
‘So much the worse for other people,’ was the reply. ‘But in the case of that Sloville girl, I really don’t see you have anything to reproach yourself with. She ran away from you, did she not? and I don’t see how any mischief could be made of that. I suppose she is still able to carry on the highly respectable calling of a dressmaker; I think she was that. She was an uncommonly fine girl; there was quite a style about her; and a girl like that can’t take much harm—that is, as long as she keeps her good looks.’