There was not a little art in the
heresiarch's modes of speech; the less obtuse appreciated him and
bade him live for ever. The secretary of the branch busily took
notes.
When the meeting had broken up into groups, a number of the more
prominent Socialists surrounded Comrade Roodhouse on the platform.
Their talk was still of Mutimer, of his shameless hypocrisy, his
greed, his infernal arrogance. Near at hand stood Mr. Keene; a word
brought him into conversation with a neighbour. He began by
repeating the prevalent abuse, then, perceiving that his hearer
merely gave assent in general terms, he added:--
'I shouldn't wonder, though, if there was some reason we haven't
heard of--I mean, about the girl, you know.'
'Think so?' said the other.
'Well, I _have_ heard it said--but then one doesn't care to repeat
such things.'
'What's that, eh?' put in another man, who had caught the words.
'Oh, nothing. Only the girl's made herself scarce. Dare say the
fault wasn't altogether on one side.'
And Mr. Keene winked meaningly.
The hint spread among those on the platform. Daniel Dabbs happened
to hear it repeated in a gross form.
'Who's been a-sayin' that?' he roared. 'Where have you got that
from, eh?'
The source was already forgotten, but Daniel would not let the
calumny take its way unopposed.
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