I only denied--" And he swept off on the subject of
fences again, and was brilliant.
"Now, a clergyman that I do hate," said she wanting to say
something sympathetic, "a clergyman that does have fences, and
the most dreadful ones, is Mr. Eager, the English chaplain at
Florence. He was truly insincere--not merely the manner
unfortunate. He was a snob, and so conceited, and he did say such
unkind things."
"What sort of things?"
"There was an old man at the Bertolini whom he said had murdered
his wife."
"Perhaps he had."
"No!"
"Why 'no'?"
"He was such a nice old man, I'm sure."
Cecil laughed at her feminine inconsequence.
"Well, I did try to sift the thing. Mr. Eager would never come
to the point. He prefers it vague--said the old man had
'practically' murdered his wife--had murdered her in the sight of
God."
"Hush, dear!" said Mrs. Honeychurch absently. "But isn't it
intolerable that a person whom we're told to imitate should go
round spreading slander? It was, I believe, chiefly owing to him
that the old man was dropped.
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