"And of course it is partly your own fault, isn't it?—if you will make such a secret of the thing? . . . Yet, I'm sure I don't blame you. Living the solitary life you do must make it specially trying to feel that every one is canvassing your affairs. For my part, I said, 'If it does come from Germany,' I said, 'you may be sure 'tis through one of those lotteries.'" On a swift thought she added, "But that tale is all nonsense, of course: because the Germans wouldn't pay in guineas, would they?"
"'Guineas'?" repeated Nicky-Nan, as the solid earth seemed to fail beneath his feet and his supporting stick.
Miss Oliver, grasping the advantage of his evident distress, decided in a flash (1) that here, before her, stood the wreck of a well-connected man, cleanly in person, not ill to look upon; and (2) that she would a little longer withhold disclosure of the guinea.
"Well, I heard it took the form of guineas, Mr Nanjivell. But of course I don't wish to be inquisitive."
"That devil Pamphlett has been talkin'," muttered Nicky-Nan to himself.
"I only suggest," Miss Oliver went on, "that if 'twas known—I don't seek to know the amount: but if I had your authority to say that 'twas all in good coin of this realm—with my opportunities I might hush up half this silly talk about your being a spy and in German pay—"
"What? . . . ME, a German spy?" The words seemed fairly to strangle him.
"It's a positive fact, I assure you. I mean it's a positive fact somebody has been putting that story about."
"If I knawed the critter, male or female—" Nicky-Nan gripped his stick.
Miss Oliver could not help admiring his demeanour, his manly indignation. The man had fine features, too—a touch of ancestry. She grew bolder.