"No, he won't," said John, full of contrition for the mischief he had done, but nevertheless determined not to eat his words, and believing the suspicion must have reached the young lady sooner or later.
"You cannot think this of papa!" said Ethel, sinking into a chair.
"Well, Miss Ethel, it is a great mystery, as you must know," said the landlord, who had risen. "I think the Master of Greylands could solve it if he liked."
"But--but, Mr. Bent, what you said is most dreadful!"
"I'm heartily sorry you chanced to overhear it, Miss Ethel."
"There's no cause to wink at me like that, wife. The words are said, and I cannot unsay them."
"But--do--you---believe it?" gasped Ethel.
"Yes, he does believe it," burst forth Mrs. Bent, losing sight of prudence in her anger against her husband. "If he does not get into some awful trouble one of these days through his tongue, his name's not John Bent--And there's Miss Castlemaine of Stilborough crossing over the road!"
Not less overcome by terror and dismay than Mrs. Bent had been by anger, Ethel rushed out of the house and burst into a storm of hysterical sobs. Mary Ursula, wondering much and full of concern, drew her arm within her own and went over to the little solitary bench that stood by the sea.
"Now, my dear, tell me what this means," she said, as they sat down.