Here they were forestalled. Before it could come to his turn the
thoughtful Pinker gave notice. His example was followed by Swinny the
virtuous. Swinny, as it happened, was a niece of Farmer Ashby's, the same
who saw Stanistreet driving with his arm round Mrs. Nevill Tyson's waist;
she was first cousin to the landlord of "The Cross-Roads," where the
Captain retired on the night of the quarrel, and she was sister to Miss
Batchelor's maid. The scandal was all in the family. It was this
circumstance, no doubt, that had given such color and consistency to
the floating rumor.

Swinny, having regard to her testimonials, was not openly offensive.
She told Tyson that she was sorry to leave a good master and mistress,
but she never could abide the town. No more could Pinker. And she must
go where there was a baby. Then Swinny, having shaken the dust of
Thorneytoft from her virtuous feet, called on every member of her family,
and told to each the same unvarying tale. She wasn't going to stay in a
place where there were such goings on; it was as much as her character
was worth. The gentlemen were after Mrs. Nevill Tyson from morning till
night, you couldn't keep 'em off--not that lot. She hadn't much to say to
them, but she fair ran after the Captain--it was perfectly disgraceful.
When Mr. Tyson sent him to the right-about, she waited till her husband's
back was turned, then she wrote to him to come. And, as if nothing else
would serve her, she had him up in the nursery when her little baby was
dying. They were actually whispering the two of them, and making eyes
at each other over the child's coffin. Why, Pinker, he caught 'em in the
library the very day of the funeral. Oh, it wasn't the Captain's fault.
She whistled and he came, that was all. So far Swinny.

_Was_ that all?

On every face there was a tremendous query. But upon the whole it was
concluded that Stanistreet at any rate had had regard to his friend's
honor.

It is the last stone that kills; so, you see, there was a certain
hesitation about hurling it. No educated person believes the evidence
of servants. Besides, when it came to the point, one felt too sorry for
Nevill Tyson to make up one's mind to the worst. So far Miss Batchelor.

Ah, well, he took her away. The last that was seen of Mrs. Nevill Tyson
in Leicestershire was a sad little figure, shrinking away in the corner
of a railway carriage, nursing her guilty secret.

CHAPTER XII

A FLAT IN TOWN