Young Glyde turns his back upon him, with no
more notice taken than you or I would have of a flea on the arm.
Insolence, that is. Downright insolence of an elderly man. Ah," said Mrs.
Benson with tightening lips, "if you come to troubles!"
Miss Percival's tone was sympathetic, if her eyes were still sightless.
"Really! I'm very sorry. I'll see Mr. Menzies about it to-morrow, and of
course I'll talk to Struan. He _is_ difficult--it's very tiresome of him.
I saw him this afternoon but had no notion of all this. I can't think how
it is. Nerves, I suppose. He's a human creature, you see, as well as a
gardener."
Mrs. Benson was incapable of seeing such a possible combination: her
explanation was simpler. Human! She scorned him. "Bad blood," she said
with energy; "bad, black, gypsy blood. He'll be murdering one of us in her
bed in a day or two. You see if he don't."
Miss Percival did not deny the suggestion. She considered it rather--its
effect, its effectiveness. "Struan is tiresome, of course," she said, "but
I do think he has tried to restrain himself lately. He promised me he
would." She turned her full gaze suddenly upon Mrs. Benson, and almost
disarmed that lady.
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