“For assaultin' of her; I was witness to his battery.”
“Why did he assault her?”
Creed looked at her, and, wagging his head, answered:
“That's best known to them as caused of it.”
The little model's face went the colour of carnations.
“I can't help what he does,” she said. “What should I want him for—a man like that? It wouldn't be him I'd want!” The genuine contempt in that sharp burst of anger impressed the aged butler.
“I'm not a-sayin' anything,” he said; “it's all a-one to me. I never mixes up with no other people's business. But it's very ill-convenient. I don't get my proper breakfast. That poor woman—she's half off her head. When the baby's buried I'll have to go and look out for another room before he gets a-comin' out.”
“I hope they'll keep him there,” muttered the little model suddenly.
“They give him a month,” said Creed.
“Only a month!”