"Not though he may have been a friend of your own? For, as I understand, you once had a very close acquaintance with Sir Edwin Uniacke."
The thrust was so unexpected, unmistakable in its meaning, that Christian, in her startled surprise, said the very worst thing she could have said to the malicious ears which were held open to every thing and eager to misconstrue every thing, "Who told you that?"
"Told me! Why all Avonsbridge is talking about it, and about you."
This was a lie—a little white lie; one of those small exaggerations of which people make no account; but Christian believed it, and it seemed to wrap her round as with a cold mist of fear. All Avonsbridge talking of her—her, Dr. Grey's wife, who had his honor as well as her own in her keeping—talking about herself and Sir Edwin Uniacke! What? how much? how had the tale come about? how could it be met?
With a sudden instinct of self-preservation, she forcibly summoned back her composure. She knew with whom she had to deal. She must guard every look, every word.
"Will you tell me. Miss Gascoigne, exactly who is talking about me, and what they say? I am sure I have never given occasion for it."
"Never? Are you quite certain of that?"
"Quite certain. Who said I had 'a very close acquaintance'—were not these your words—with Sir Edwin Uniacke?"
"Himself."
"Himself!"