"The devil you are! And who are you?" answered he, first staring, then flushing.
"My name's Rudolph Brederode," said I.
"You're a d—d eavesdropper," said he.
"You are the same kind of a fool, for thinking because your neighbor spoke Dutch he couldn't know English. I sat still and let you go on, because I don't mean to allow any of the persons concerned to be imposed upon by you."
He glared at me across the table as if he could have killed me, and I glared back at him; yet all the while I was conscious of a sneaking kindness for the fellow, he looked so stricken—rather like an endearing scamp of an Eton boy who has got into a horrid scrape, and is being hauled over the coals by the Head.
"What business is it of yours?" he wanted to know.
"Lady MacNairne's a friend of mine."
"Indeed! But what of that? She's my aunt."
"And Robert van Buren is another friend, an intimate one. He has told me about his cousin's motor-boat. He doesn't approve of the tour, as it is. When he hears from me——"
"Oh, hang it all, why do you want to be such a spoilsport?" demanded the poor wretch in torture. "Did you never fall in love with a girl, and feel you'd do anything to get her?"