"Nay! but this I do believe on the evidence of mine own eyes—that you stole my money and my jewels and have no intention of returning them to me."
"Your opinion of me, mejuffrouw, is already so low that it matters little surely if you think me a common thief as well."
"My opinion of you, sir, is based upon your actions."
"And these I own stand in formidable array against me."
She bit her lip in vexation and her slender fingers began to beat a tattoo on the arm of her chair. This man's placidity and inveterate good-humour were getting on her nerves. It is hard when one means to wound, to find the surest arrows falling wide of the mark. But now she waited for a moment or two lest her irritation betrayed itself in the quiver of her voice; and it was only when she felt quite sure that it would sound as trenchant and hard as she intended that it should, that she said abruptly:
"Who is paying you, sir, for this infamy?"
"One apparently who can afford the luxury," he replied airily.
"You will not tell me?"
"Do you think, mejuffrouw, that I could?"
"I may guess."