"I know. You often said so; don't say it any more," she said. "All that was a mistake—and absurd."
"You know what they are saying of him, Kate? They are saying he killed his wife."
Her dark face whitened, her dark eyes opened wide.
"They cannot!"
"They do. They say he couldn't look such a miserable, hangdog wretch for nothing. The worst is, the boys at the college have got hold of it. One of the little wretches wrote up on the white wall of his class-room the other day, 'Who killed his wife?' Bryant, the science master, told me Kilbourne took no notice, but his face was sea-green for the rest of the morning."
"He should have thrashed the whole class—thrashed them within an inch of their lives!"
"Well, he didn't. He did nothing." Alick dropped his voice. "Bryant told me he looked as if he were afraid," he said.
"What beasts people are to say such things!" she burst out. "And of such a man! The gentlest, the kindest——"
"I know, my dear. I'm sorry for poor old Kilbourne. I daresay he didn't kill his wife; but something's happened to him, and she did die uncommonly sudden. Anyhow, from what Bryant said, it's evident he's lost his nerve and his courage. At that rate, he'll precious soon lose his post."