“How did you hear about it?” asked Mauville, irritably.
“Oh, in a roundabout way. Murder will out! And Constance––she was so solicitous about Mr. Saint-Prosper, but rather proud, I believe, because he”––with a laugh––“came off victorious.”
Susan’s prattle, although accompanied by innocent glances from her blue eyes, was sometimes the most irritating thing in the world, and the land baron, goaded beyond endurance, now threw off his careless manner and swore in an undertone by “every devil in Satan’s calendar.”
“Can you not reserve your soliloquy until you leave me?” observed Susan, sweetly. “Otherwise––”
“I regret to have shocked your ladyship,” he murmured, satirically.
“I forgive you.” Raising her guileless eyes. “When I think of the provocation, I do not blame you––so much!”
“That is more than people do in your case,” muttered the land baron savagely.
Susan’s hand trembled. “What do you mean?” she asked, not without apprehension regarding his answer.
“Oh, that affair with the young officer––the lad who was killed in the duel, you know––”