“A great deal has been made out of this quarrel about a little girl,” he said to the boy. “Is it not the fact that you have endeavored consistently to keep her name out of the affair altogether?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Mrs. Saumarez is only a visitor here, and her daughter could not know anything of village ways. I was mostly to blame for allowing her to be there at all, so I tried to take it onto my shoulders.”
It was interesting to note how Angèle received this statement. Her black eyes became tearful. Her hero was rehabilitated. She worshiped him again passionately. Someone else had peached. She brushed away the tears and darted a quick look at the Squire’s eldest son.
He was the next witness. He saw George Pickering and Kitty go down the garden, the man’s arm being around Kitty’s neck. Then he fought with Martin. Afterwards he heard some screaming, but could not tell a word that was said—he was too dazed.
“Is it not possible the hubbub was too confused that you should gain any intelligible idea of it?” asked Mr. Stockwell.
“Yes, that might be so.”
“You are a bigger boy than young Bolland. Surely he could not pummel the wits out of you?”
“I don’t think he will next time. He caught me a stinger by chance.”