"No one has been in my house save yourself, Mr. Denzil."
"Oh, I have said nothing. You turned me out so quickly the other night that I had no time for observation. Besides, I am not in the habit of remarking on matters which do not concern me."
"I beg your pardon," said Berwin weakly. "I had no intention of offending you. I suppose Mrs. Kebby has been talking?"
"I should think it probable."
"The skirling Jezebel!" cried Berwin. "I'll pack her off right away!"
"Are you a Scotchman?" asked Denzil suddenly.
"Why do you ask?" demanded Berwin, without replying.
"You used an essentially Scotch word—'skirling.'"
"And I used an essentially American phrase—'right away,'" retorted the man. "I may be a Scot, I may be a Yankee, but I would remind you that my nationality is my own secret."
"I have no wish to pry into your secrets," said Denzil, rising from the chair in which he had seated himself, "and in my turn I would remind you that I am here at your invitation."