"Oh—I'm sorry. Perhaps I shouldn't have asked?"
The stranger put his hands into his coat pockets and stared down at Beth with a strange intrusive kind of smile.
"You and Pete seem kind of thick, don't ye?" he muttered.
"Pete!"
"Pete Nichols. That's his name, ain't it? Kind of thick, I'd say. I can't blame him though——"
"You're mistaken," said Beth with dignity, "there's nothin' between Peter Nichols and me." And turning heel, Beth took a step away.
"There! Put my foot in it, didn't I? I'm sorry. Don't go yet. I want to ask ye something."
Beth paused and found that the stranger had come out from the portico and still stood beside her. And as her look inquired fearlessly,
"It's about your name, Miss," he muttered, and then with an effort spoke the word savagely, as though it had been wrenched from him by an effort of will, "Cameron——? Your name's Cameron?"
"Yes," said Beth, in some inquietude.