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He had safeguarded Louis' interests under the will in order to rob him afterwards as a cinematograph speculator. The thing was as clear as daylight. And yet Louis did not seem to see it. Louis listened to Batchgrew's ingenious arguments with naïve interest and was obviously impressed.
"I did ... It was ... Of course." Mrs. Maldon made no sign of interest. Mr. Batchgrew's boots creaked to and fro in the room. "And what's Julian got to say for himself?" he asked, not addressing either woman in particular. "Julian wasn't here. He didn't stay the night. Louis stayed instead," answered Mrs. Maldon, faintly, without opening her eyes. "What? What? What's this?"
All Batchgrew's sons and daughters were married, and several of his grandchildren also. And all his children, and more than one of the grandchildren, kept motor-cars.
"Well, he gave me to understand there's very little hope, and nothing to be done. If I'd had the faintest notion " "You needn't worry about that," said Rachel. "Your coming made no difference. The doctor said so." And she asked herself why she should go out of her way to reassure Louis. It would serve him right to think that his brusque visit, with Mr. Batchgrew's, was the origin of the relapse.
Who'd guess as nigh on a thousand pound's missing out of this house since last night!" The heavy voice rolled over them brutally. Louis attempted to withstand Mr. Batchgrew's glare, but failed.
I opened the front door, but there was no light and no sound, so I shut it again and came back. What happened to you?" His ingenuous and delightful face, so confident, good-natured, and respectful, had exactly the same effect on her as before. At the sight of it Thomas Batchgrew's vague accusation against Louis was dismissed utterly as the rancorous malice of an evil old man.
A troubling silence followed, broken by Mr. Batchgrew's uneasy grunts as he turned away to the window, and by the clink of the spoon as Rachel helped Mrs. Maldon to take the food. At length Mr. Batchgrew asked, staring through the window "Did ye notice the dust on top o' that cupboard? Was it disturbed?" Hesitating an instant, Rachel answered firmly, without turning her head
"I should like a word with ye, if ye can spare a minute, young miss," whispered a voice as heavy as the hand. It was old Thomas Batchgrew's face and whiskers that she was looking up at in the gloom. As if fascinated, she followed in terror those flaunting whiskers up the slope of the narrow isle to the back of the auditorium.
And then, in a firmer, prouder voice: "There will be no scandal in my family, Mr. Batchgrew, as long as I live." Mr. Batchgrew's answer was superb in its unconscious ferocity "That depends how long ye live." His meaningless eyes rested on her with frosty impartiality, as he reflected "I wonder how long she'll last." He felt strong; he felt immortal. Exactly like Mrs.
If it was on account of supposed lies and concealment that he admired her, then she rejected Thomas Batchgrew's admiration.... The self-accuser and the self-depreciator in her grew so strong that Louis' conduct soon became unexceptionable save for a minor point concerning a theft of some five hundred pounds odd from an old lady.
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