George did not question his informant, thereby showing that he, in the rôle of detective, was a square peg in a round hole. He heard proceeding from the kitchen a murmur of two subdued voices, one of which, however, dominated the other.
“That must be Mrs. Bort,” thought he. “I wish I could hear the female.”
Then his attention wandered, for he made sure the unknown could not be Neaera, as she had had a day’s start of him. He did not allow for Mrs. Bort’s washing. Suddenly the dominant voice was raised to the pitch of distinctness.
“Have ye told him,” it said, “or have ye lied to him, as you lied to me yesterday?”
“I didn’t—I didn’t,” was the answer. “You never asked me if I was going to be married.”
“Oh, go along! You know how I’d have answered that when ye lived with me.”
“How’s that?” asked George, with a slight smile.
“Have ye told him?”
“Told him what?” asked Neaera; for it was clearly Neaera.