“And you said you had nothing unpleasant to say! I call it unpleasant—confoundedly unpleasant—to ask me such a question! As if I had anything to do with Miss Lane! What do you want to know for?” His manner changed from sullen to fierce with this question.
“Your manner is a little inconsistent. If you know nothing about her, why are you so angry when I ask you if you do?”
“I don’t care to be put through my catechism. You ask more questions than my father did.”
“Then he spoke to you about this matter?”
“What if he did?”
“And you told him the truth?”
“Yes, the truth. I swear it! But I am not bound to answer your questions, and I won’t. Take your hand off my arm; do you hear?”
“Only one question. When you have answered it, I won’t bother you again. Do you know where Miss Lane lives?”
A light suddenly came into his brother’s eyes, and he answered readily:
“I haven’t the least idea where Miss Lane lives; I swear it!”