“Never mind, my dear fellow,” said Whalley, patting him on the back; “why should you care so much because two such fellows as White-feather and Varnish try to be impudent. I shouldn’t care the snap of a finger for anything they could say.”
“It isn’t that, Whalley, it isn’t that,” said Kenrick proudly, drying his tears. “But how did those fellows know the things they were hinting at? Only one person ever heard them, and he must have betrayed them to laugh at me behind my back. It’s that that makes me miserable.”
“But whom do you mean?”
“The excellent Evson,” said Kenrick bitterly. “And mark me, Whalley, I’ll never speak to him again.”
“Evson,” said Whalley, “I don’t believe he’s at all the fellow to do it. Are you certain?”
“Quite. No one else could know the things.”
“But surely you’ll ask him first?”
“It’s no use,” answered Kenrick, gloomily; “but I will, in order that he may understand that I have found him out.”