"And not a word either about our tiff, or your unkind threat to resign."
"No—er, no. I shan't say another word about that."
But unfortunately Mr. Mears had already said a word or two about it to Mr. Prentice the solicitor; and very soon Mr. Prentice came, tactlessly blundering, to see Mrs. Thompson.
No one could admire her more than Mr. Prentice—truly his admiration was so obviously genuine that people sometimes wondered what Mrs. Prentice thought about it. Staunch friendship, skilled service, as well as the admiration, had won him many privileges; but he overstepped their limits now.
"I say. Is it all serene between you and Mears? Let me advise you—don't allow the breach to widen. I should consider it a great pity if you were to part with your right-hand man because of any trifling difference of—"
Mrs. Thompson cut him short.
"Mr. Prentice, there is one thing I cannot permit—even from you." She was dignified, but terrible. "I cannot, and I will not permit interference in what is my business, and my business only."
"Sorry—very sorry.... No idea I should put you out like this."
Mr. Prentice, with muttered apologies, hurried away, looking scared and abashed, carrying his square bowler all through the shop into the street, as if in his confusion he had forgotten that it belonged to his head.