Observing nothing serious behind these words, Isabel was silent.
“Miss Moreland,” he resumed, “I suppose you know nothing of the slanderous reports that have been circulated at your expense?”
“I do not understand.”
“Then listen. We were speaking of friends; it is my opinion that you have comparatively few at present.”
“Explain yourself.”
“I will. But, first—begging your pardon—let me be so presumptuous as to ask you a question. Have you recently been meeting a man, at a certain hour of the night, out yonder by the grave of Russell Trafford?”
He looked keenly at her, but was disappointed in what he saw. Her face expressed nothing but astonishment and offended pride.
“Sir, you are impertinent,” she exclaimed.
“I ask a simple question.”