"My late nephew?" Welsh heaved a sigh. "Poor fellow, he is gone. He always was delicate."
"Gone!—"
"Yes—to a warm place."
"It is not for us to judge," said Mrs. Cribbage, sternly.
"Well, perhaps not," answered Welsh; "but between you and me, ma'am, for what else was he fit?"
"I always considered that he gave himself airs, and I had an impression that he indulged in free-thinking. Still, he was not positively vicious. Nothing was proved against his morals."
"Others go to a warm place that shall be nameless, besides those who are positively vicious."
"Well," said Mrs. Cribbage, "that is true, sadly true. And now, to change the topic—how is Miss Inglett? Is she still with you?"
"Miss Inglett?" Welsh's eyes twinkled. He knew what the woman had come to his place for. It was not out of kindness to communicate to him his sister's condition. He felt the dig of the skua's beak in his chest.
"Oh yes, we know all about it. Marianne Tubb talked before she had the stroke and lost the power of speech. You must not suppose, Mr. Welsh, that we are taken in and believe that the Honourable Arminell Inglett died as has been represented, through the shock caused by her father's fatal fall."
"Ah! I remember seeing something about it in the papers. She died, did she?"
"No, no, Mr. Welsh, that will not do. Your sister let the cat out of the bag. She said that Miss Inglett was lodging here with you; and very boastful Mr. Tubb was about it, and much talk did it occasion in Orleigh. Some people would not believe it, they said that Marianne Saltren had been a liar, and Marianne Tubb was no better. However, others say that there is something in it. So, as I am
