"Don't name it!" she interrupted hastily, "the very leaves here have ears!"
Her husband laughed explosively, and presently said,—
"I never knew such a woman as you are for jumping at conclusions. She had a twinge of face-ache, that was all."
"A twinge of heart-ache, you mean. But what is the use of talking to you?—you are as matter-of-fact as a Monday morning. And now, pray tell me, though I suppose I might just as well ask Billy Home, did Gilbert Lisle ever show her any attention?"
"Ha—hum—well, do you think that saving her life could be called an attention?"
"Yes," eagerly; "yes, of course! I'd forgotten about that!"
"And another time he picked her off the mainland and brought her home in what is now your boat, through a series of white squalls."
"Did he really?" the really, as it were, in large capitals.
"And he was there a few times. But you need not get any ideas into your head about him, it was always Quentin, he was always hanging about her in that heavy persistent way of his—it was Quentin, I tell you!"
"And I tell you," responded his wife emphatically, "that it was, and is, Gilbert Lisle. I recollect his saying, the night of the ball, what a nice girl she was; or I said it, and he agreed, which is the same thing. And I remember perfectly, now that I think of it, noticing them leaning over a gate, and looking just like a pair of lovers."