“But you have talked about him. You have said too much or not enough, one or the other. Why don’t you like him? He likes you. He said you and he were friends there in New York.”
“He lied when he said it. He never had anything to do with me. He and his gang were too busy high-rolling to bother with a fellow who was there just to study painting. He had a pocketful of money and— Why, Esther, if you knew half of the stories I have heard about him you wouldn’t like him any better than I do.”
“What sort of stories?”
“Oh—well, I’m not going to tell them to you. They aren’t stories you ought to hear.”
“Do you know they are true?”
“Why shouldn’t they be true? Everybody said—”
“I don’t care what every one said. People say all sorts of things, especially when they are envious of other people. Do you know they were true?”
“No-o. At least I never saw anything out of the way, if that is what you mean. Why should I? I never was invited to any of his—parties. He hadn’t any use for me; I told you that.”
“Yes, you did tell me. You didn’t like him then and you don’t like him now and so, because you don’t like him, you sit here and hint—hint at things that, for all you know, may have been just mean gossip without a word of truth behind them. Rich people are always gossiped about. I have lived with Uncle Foster long enough to learn that.... Bob, if you can’t prove anything against Mr. Covell I think it would be much better for you not to talk about him at all.”
Her temper was rising now. If his own had not been at the boiling point he might have noticed the symptoms and been more careful. But he was past taking care.