"Mr. Lisle, will you kindly tell me at once what you mean?"
"Certainly, Miss Denis. I mean that Quentin is the happiest of men."
"I am extremely pleased to hear it, but why?" she interrogated firmly.
"What is the use of fencing with me in this way?" he exclaimed with a gesture of impatience. "You may trust me.—I know all about it. Quentin has told me himself, that he is engaged to you."
"Engaged to me!" she echoed with glowing eyes. "Mr. Lisle, you are joking."
"Do I look as if I was joking?" he demanded rather bitterly.
"It is not the case. It is the first that I have heard of it," exclaimed the young lady in a voice trembling with agitation and indignation. "How dared he say so?"
Mr. Lisle felt bewildered; a rapturous possibility made his brain reel. Yet who was he to believe? Quentin had been very positive; he had never known him to utter a deliberate lie. And here, on the other hand, stood this girl, saying "No;" and if ever the truth was traced upon proud, indignant lips, it was written on hers.
"Do you believe me, Mr. Lisle?" she asked impatiently.
For fully a moment he did not speak; and was it the moonlight, or some sudden emotion, that made him look so white?