"No! Whose then?"
"Marietta's."
"Marietta—what, the maid here?"
"Yes."
"Impossible."
"Was it, egad? I thought so, but I am not easily mistaken."
"Unless you dreamt."
"Bah!" exclaimed Mr. Mole, with ineffable contempt; "fiddlesticks!"
"But did you suppose she was in league with Hunston?" demanded Emily with great eagerness.
"No."