‘I heard something today which you are not in the way of hearing. You have—probably—no conception that it could be said.’
‘Then she has been telling other people. ABSOLUTELY the worst thing she could do!’ Mrs. Innes exclaimed privately, sitting unmoved, her face a little too expectant.
‘You won’t be prepared for it—you may be shocked and hurt by it. Indeed, I think there is no need to repeat it to you. But I must put you on your guard. Men are coarser, you know, than women; they are apt to put their own interpretation—’
‘What is it?’
There was a physical gasp, a sharpness in her voice that brought Innes’s eyes from the floor to her face.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘but—don’t overestimate it, don’t let it worry you. It was simply a very impertinent—a very disagreeable reference to you and Mr. Holmcroft, I think, in connection with the Dovedell’s picnic. It was a particularly silly thing as well, and I am sure no one would attach any importance to it, but it was said openly at the Club, and—’
‘Who said it?’ Mrs. Innes demanded.
A flood of colour rushed over her face. Horace marked that she blushed.
‘I don’t know whether I ought to tell you, Violet. It certainly was not meant for your ears.’
‘If I’m not to know who said it, I don’t see why I should pay any attention to it. Mere idle rumour—’