Robert Belcher knew that the woman before him was fearless and
incorruptible. He knew that she despised him--that bullying and
brow-beating would have no influence with her, that his ready badinage
would not avail, and that coaxing and soft words would be equally
useless. In her presence, he was shorn of all his weapons; and he never
felt so defenseless and ill at ease in his life.
As Miss Butterworth did not seem inclined to begin conversation, Mr.
Belcher hem'd and haw'd with affected nonchalance, and said:
"Ah!--to--what am I indebted for this visit. Miss--ah--Butterworth?"
"I'm thinking!" she replied sharply, looking into the fire, and pressing
her lips together.
There was nothing to be said to this, so Mr. Belcher looked doggedly at
her, and waited.
"I'm thinking of a man, and-he-was-a-man-every-inch-of-him, if there
ever was one, and a gentleman too, if-I-know-what-a-gentleman-is, who
came to this town ten years ago, from-nobody-knows-where; with a wife
that was an angel, if-there-is-any-such-thing-as-an-angel."
Here Miss Butterworth paused. She had laid her foundation, and proceeded
at her leisure.
"He knew more than any man in Sevenoaks, but he didn't know how to take
care of himself," she went on.
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