“A fool you call him!” she exclaimed, in reply to Gerald’s half-hearted defence. “I don’t know if he’s a fool, but I hope he is no worse.”
“Who’s getting it so precious warm, Mrs. Witt?” inquired Tommy Myles’s cheerful voice. “The door was ajar, and your words forced themselves—you know.”
“How do you do, Mr. Myles?”
“As you’d invited me, and your servant wasn’t about, the porter-fellow told me to walk up.”
“I’m very glad you did. There’s nothing you can’t hear.”
“Oh, I say, Neaera!” Gerald hastily exclaimed.
“Why shouldn’t he hear?” demanded Neaera, turning on him in superb indignation. “Are you afraid that he’ll believe it?”
“No; but we all thought——”
“I meant Mr. George Neston,” said Neaera.