"Well, Mr. Maule."
"You know her so well."
"Adelaide, you mean?"
"You understand her thoroughly. There can't be anything in it; is there?"
"How anything?"
"She can't really—like him?"
"Mr. Maule, if I were to tell her that you had asked such a question as that I don't believe that she'd ever speak a word to you again; and it would serve you right. Didn't you call him an oaf?"
"I did."
"And how long has she known him?"
"I don't believe she ever spoke to him before yesterday."