“I do not say she is always kind. She can hurt. She will not be kind about me to-day.”
A thorn pricked Wareham. He said hastily—
“She will know it was not your fault.”
“She will try to keep me from knowing it. You may be sure it will be long before I hear the last of it, from her or from—others.”
“From others?”
Anne looked straight in his face.
“Mr Wareham, I imagined you to be a man of the world. If you are, you must know as well as I that people will chatter.”
“The world is not always absurd,” he retorted, with heat.
“When was it not a gossip? Now I will ask a question which I have avoided before. When shall we get to Balholm?”
“About two or three in the morning.”