When the meeting had broken up into groups, a number of the more prominent Socialists surrounded Comrade Roodhouse on the platform.  Their talk was still of Mutimer, of his shameless hypocrisy, his greed, his infernal arrogance.  Near at hand stood Mr. Keene; a word brought him into conversation with a neighbour.  He began by repeating the prevalent abuse, then, perceiving that his hearer merely gave assent in general terms, he added:—­

’I shouldn’t wonder, though, if there was some reason we haven’t heard of—­I mean, about the girl, you know.’

‘Think so?’ said the other.

’Well, I have heard it said—­but then one doesn’t care to repeat such things.’

‘What’s that, eh?’ put in another man, who had caught the words.

’Oh, nothing.  Only the girl’s made herself scarce.  Dare say the fault wasn’t altogether on one side.’

And Mr. Keene winked meaningly.

The hint spread among those on the platform.  Daniel Dabbs happened to hear it repeated in a gross form.

‘Who’s been a-sayin’ that?’ he roared.  ’Where have you got that from, eh?’

The source was already forgotten, but Daniel would not let the calumny take its way unopposed.  He harangued those about him with furious indignation.

‘If any man’s got a word to say against Emma Vine, let him come an’ say it to me, that’s all I Now look ‘ere, all o’ you, I know that girl, and I know that anyone as talks like that about her tells a damned lie.’

‘Most like it’s Mutimer himself as has set it goin’,’ observed someone.

In five minutes all who remained in the room were convinced that Mutimer had sent an agent to the meeting for the purpose of assailing Emma Vine’s good name.  Mr. Keene had already taken his departure, and no suspicious character was discernible; a pity for the evening might have ended in a picturesque way.

But Daniel Dabbs went home to his brother’s public-house, obtained note-paper and an envelope, and forthwith indited a brief epistle which he addressed to the house in Highbury.  It had no formal commencement, and ended with ‘Yours, etc.’  Daniel demanded an assurance that his former friend had not instigated certain vile accusations against Emma, and informed him that whatever answer was received would be read aloud at next Sunday’s meeting.

The one not wholly ignoble incident in that evening’s transactions.

CHAPTER XVIII

In the partial reconciliation between Mrs. Mutimer and her children there was no tenderness on either side.  The old conditions could not be restored, and the habits of the family did not lend themselves to the polite hypocrisy which lubricates the wheels of the refined world.  There was to be a parting, and probably it would be for life.  In Richard’s household his mother could never have a part, and when Alice married, doubtless the same social difficulty would present itself.  It was not the future to which Mrs. Mutimer had looked forward, but, having said her say, she resigned herself and hardened her heart.  At least she would die in the familiar home.