“Not yet, madam,” replied he, dryly.
“In that case, sir, would it not be as well to tell the man who is lingering yonder to leave this? except, perhaps, it may be your desire to have a witness to your words.”
Linton started, and grew deadly pale; for he now perceived that the man must have been in the conservatory during the entire interview. Hastening round to where he stood, his fears were at once dispelled; for it was the Italian sailor, Giovanni, who, in the multiplicity of his accomplishments, was now assisting the gardener among the plants.
“It is of no consequence, madam,” said he, returning; “the man is an Italian, who understands nothing of English.”
“You are always fortunate, Mr. Linton,” said she, with a deep emphasis on the pronoun.
“I have ceased to boast of my good luck for many a day.”
“Having, doubtless, so many other qualities to be proud of,” said she, with a malicious sparkle of her dark eyes.
“The question is now, madam, of one far more interesting than me.”
“Can that be possible, sir? Is any one's welfare of such moment to his friends—to the world at large—as the high-minded, the honorable, the open-hearted Mr. Linton, who condescends, for the sake of a warning to his young friends, to turn gambler and ruin them; while he has the daring courage to single out a poor unprotected woman, without one who could rightly defend her, and, under the miserable mask of interest, to insult her?”
“Is it thus you read my conduct, madam?” said he, with an air at once sad and reproachful.