"Ladies that are--getting on a bit in years, you know--like my wife, are apt to let their tongues wag, and between you and me, I shouldn't wonder if Mrs.
Folliot has repeated what Mrs.Deramore said--eh?
And I don't want the doctor to think that--if he hears anything, you know, which he may, and, again, he might--to think that it originated here.

So, if he should ever mention it to you, you can say it sprang from his next-door neighbour.
Bah!--they're a lot of old gossips, these Close ladies!" "Thank you," said Mary.

"But--supposing this man had been to our house--what difference would that make?
He might have been for half a dozen reasons." Folliot looked at her out of his half-shut eyes.
"Some people would want to know why Ransford didn't tell that--at the inquest," he answered.

"That's all.

When there's a bit of mystery, you know--eh ?" He nodded--as if reassuringly--and went off to rejoin his gardener, and Mary walked home with her roses, more thoughtful than ever.