" She grew grave
as she went on. "I've only asked him about one thing all through the
election. I had to ask him about that."
"Ah!" murmured Foster, cautiously, vaguely, safely.
"This wretched story about Sir Winterton, you know. And I got into
terrible trouble by my question." She laughed a little. "He doesn't as a
rule scold me, you know, but he really did. I was very much surprised.
Fancy boring you with this! Well, I asked him if he'd had anything to do
with reviving the story. I asked him right straight out. Did you think I
was like that, Mr. Foster?"
"Pretty well, pretty well," said old Foster; he was smiling, but he was
watching her again.
"Was it insulting? Well, you see----" She stopped abruptly; Foster was
not, after all, Aunt Maria, and she could not tell him how it was that
she might ask her husband questions that sounded insulting. "Anyhow he
was very much offended."
Foster still nursed his foot, and now he shifted a little in his chair.
"He gave me his word directly, but told me he was very much hurt at my
asking him.
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