It was Mr. Jenkins again, but in a voice that was soft, almost
caressing. Did Mr. Sales talk like this to Aunt Rose? She could not
believe it and she was both flattered and distressed. She must assert
her dignity and she had no way of doing it but by an expression of
firmness, a slight tightening of lips that wanted to twitch into a
smile.

'Mr. Charles Batty,' the voice went on, 'seems to have missed his
opportunities, but I have always suspected him of idiocy.'

'I don't know what you mean,' she said untruthfully, and then,
loyally, she protested. 'But he's not an idiot. He's very clever, too
clever, not like other people.'

'Well, there are different names for that sort of thing,' he said
easily, and she was aware of an immense distance between her and him--
he seemed to have put her from him with a light push--and at the same
time she was oppressively conscious of his nearness. She felt angry,
and she burst out, 'I won't have you speaking like that about
Charles.'

'Certainly not, if he's a friend of yours.'

'And I won't have you laughing at me.'

He stopped in his long stride. 'Don't you laugh yourself at the things
that please you very much?'

'Oh, don't!' she begged. He was too much for her; she was helpless, as