"And you," she exclaimed, "you mustn't worry yourself about Buteau. The swine brags everywhere that he has had to do with me. Perhaps you believe it?"
"Everybody in the neighbourhood believes it," Jean murmured, evading a direct reply.
Then, seeing that she was still looking at him, he continued:
"Well, yes, I did believe it. I knew the scoundrel so well, that I didn't see how you could possibly have prevented him."
"Oh, he tried often enough, and I suffered dreadfully at his hands; but if I swear to you that he never gained his ends, will you believe me?"
"Yes, I believe you."
Then, in token of his pleasure, he closed his fingers round her hand, and kept it pressed in his own as he stood with his arm resting on the gate. Noticing that the dribbling stream from the stable was wetting his boots, he set his legs apart.
"You seemed to stick on there so persistently," he continued, "that it almost appeared as though you enjoyed his buffetings."
The girl felt ill at ease, and her frank, straightforward gaze was lowered.
"And the more so," he added, "as you wouldn't have anything more to do with me. Well, it's all the better now, isn't it? That baby I so wanted still remains to come. It's altogether more respectable, too."