I'm sure I don't like to repeat the wicked things he says
about Mr. Hilary. It seems as if he were out of his mind when he gets
talkin' about that young girl."
The tone of those last three words was almost fierce.
Cecilia was on the point of saying: 'That will do, please; I want
to hear no more.' But her curiosity and queer subtle fear forced her
instead to repeat: "I don't understand. Do you mean he insinuates that
Mr. Hilary has anything to do with--with this girl, or what?" And she
thought: 'I'll stop that, at any rate.'
The seamstress's face was distorted by her efforts to control her voice.
"I tell him he's wicked to say such things, m'm, and Mr. Hilary such a
kind gentleman. And what business is it of his, I say, that's got a wife
and children of his own? I've seen him in the street, I've watched him
hanging about Mrs. Hilary's house when I've been working there waiting
for that girl, and following her--home---" Again her lips refused to do
service, except in the swallowing of her tears.
Cecilia thought: 'I must tell Stephen at once. That man is dangerous.'
A spasm gripped her heart, usually so warm and snug; vague feelings she
had already entertained presented themselves now with startling force;
she seemed to see the face of sordid life staring at the family of
Dallison.
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