‘Perhaps—I don’t know—’
She faltered, no longer able to mask in impudence, and hardly restraining tears. Beatrice ceased to doubt, and could only wonder with amusement.
‘Why shouldn’t we be good friends, Nancy? I tell you, I am no rascal. I never thought of making anything out of your secret—not I. If it had been Crewe, marriage or no marriage—well, I might have shown my temper. I believe I have a pretty rough side to my tongue; but I’m a good enough sort if you take me in the right way. Of course I shall never rest for wondering who it can be—’
She paused, but Nancy did not look up, did not stir.
‘Perhaps you’ll tell me some other time. But there’s one thing I should like to ask about, and it’s for your own good that I should know it. When Crewe was down there, don’t you think he tumbled to anything?’
Perplexed by unfamiliar slang, Nancy raised her eyes.
‘Found out anything, you mean? I don’t know.’
‘But you must have been in a jolly fright about it?’
‘I gave it very little thought,’ replied Nancy, able now to command a steady voice, and retiring behind a manner of frigid indifference.
‘No? Well, of course I understand that better now I know that you can’t lose anything. Still, it is to be hoped he didn’t go asking questions. By-the-bye, you may as well just tell me: he has asked you to marry him, hasn’t he?’