Suddenly, however, their talk took a dramatically interesting
turn, and Alethia listened with wide-eyed attention.
"What do you think of Mister Robert Bludward, eh?"
There was a certain scornful ring in his question.
"Robert Bludward? An out-an'-out rotter, that's what he is. Ought to be
ashamed to look any decent man in the face. Send him to Parliament to
represent us--not much! He'd rob a poor man of his last shilling, he
would."
"Ah, that he would. Tells a pack of lies to get our votes, that's all
that he's after, damn him. Did you see the way the _Argus_ showed him up
this week? Properly exposed him, hip and thigh, I tell you."
And so on they ran, in their withering indictment. There could be no
doubt that it was Alethia's cousin and prospective host to whom they were
referring; the allusion to a Parliamentary candidature settled that. What
could Robert Bludward have done, what manner of man could he be, that
people should speak of him with such obvious reprobation?
"He was hissed down at Shoalford yesterday," said one of the speakers.
Hissed! Had it come to that? There was something dramatically biblical
in the idea of Robert Bludward's neighbours and acquaintances hissing him
for very scorn.
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