Bent to understand that he had, during
her absence in the Doon, been the victim of unceasing persecution
at the hands of Mrs. Delville, and he told the tale so often and with
such eloquence that he ended in believing it, while his wife
marvelled at the manners and customs of 'some women.' When the
situation showed signs of languishing, Mrs. Waddy was always on
hand to wake the smouldering fires of suspicion in Mrs. Bent's
bosom and to contribute generally to the peace and comfort of the
hotel. Mr. Bent's life was not a happy one, for if Mrs. Waddy's
story were true, he was, argued his wife, untrustworthy to the last
degree. If his own statement was true, his charms of manner and
conversation were so great that he needed constant surveillance.
And he received it, till he repented genuinely of his marriage and
neglected his personal appearance. Mrs. Delville alone in the hotel
was unchanged. She removed her chair some six paces towards the
head of the table, and occasionally in the twilight ventured on
timid overtures of friendship to Mrs. Bent, which were repulsed.
'She does it for my sake,' hinted the virtuous Bent.
'A dangerous and designing woman,' purred Mrs. Waddy.
Worst of all, every other hotel in Simla was full!
'Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria?'
'Of nothing in the world except small-pox, Diphtheria kills, but it
doesn't disfigure.
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