“Of what, my good Mrs. Gott?”
“Why, most of the neighbours say, of the Goodwins. For my part, as I do not believe she ever hurt a hair of the head of the old man and old woman, I can imagine that she has disagreeable things to think of that are in nowise connected with them.”
“She certainly has disagreeable things to make her cheeks pale that are connected with that unfortunate couple. But, I ought to know all: To what else do the neighbours object?”
“To the foreign tongues—they think when a grand jury has found a bill, the accused ought to talk nothing but plain English, so that all near her can understand what she says.”
“In a word, it is not thought sufficient to be accused of such a crime as murder, but all other visitations must follow, to render the charge as horrible as may be!”
“That is not the way they look at it. The public fancies that in a public matter they have a right to know all about a thing.”
“And when there is a failure in the proof, they imagine, invent, and assert.”
“’Tis the ways of the land. I suppose all nations have their ways, and follow them.”
“One thing surprises me a little in this matter,” Jack rejoined, after musing a moment; “it is this. In most cases in which women have any connection with the law, the leaning in this country, and more particularly of late, has been in their favour.”
“Well,” Mrs. Gott quietly but quickly interrupted, “and ought it not to be so?”