“There,” said Sir William, when he had finished his recital, “that’s what I saw; and whatever you tell me, I shall think the same, that I’ve been cheated, and that to-night is probably not the first time.”
Gerard did not at once reply. Cora and Arthur Aldington were observing them, and he saw the girl whisper something to Arthur, in response to which he nodded, and leaving her, strolled over to join the two young men.
“I hope you’ve changed your mind about what you fancied you saw,” said he to Sir William, who laughed dryly and shook his head.
“Oh, no, I haven’t,” he said. “These Yankees have had me for a mug; and I’ve no doubt, as I’ve just been saying to Buckland, that what I found out to-night was really only the end of what had been going on for some time, in fact ever since I was fool enough to come here first.”
Arthur looked angry.
“Really, Gurdon, I think you ought to measure your words a little more carefully,” he said stiffly. “We are friends of these people, Buckland and I, and we can’t allow such things to be said uncontradicted, can we?”
Gerard shook his head.
“You see, Sir William, it’s impossible for you to be quite sure on such a point. It would need some confirmation—”
“Confirmation! Do you doubt my word?”
“Of course not. What I do doubt is whether we ought to be sure without proof stronger than the eyes of one person. No, no, don’t get angry again. I mean that, supposing I had seen what you saw, and believed what you believed, I should have thought twice about bringing such a grave—such an awful accusation—in a room full of ladies—and should have waited to discuss quietly with some other fellows what was the best thing to be done.”