“I never heard a word.”
“But it must have been going on for long enough. And you knew nothing whatever?”
“And I knew nothing whatever,” said George Vine, his words coming slowly and in a voice which sounded perfectly calm.
“Then you know from what black cloud this bolt has come?”
“I—I know nothing,” said Vine, in the same slow, strange way.
“Then I can tell you,” cried Luke, furiously. “If ever man nursed viper at his fireside, you have done this, for it to sting you to the heart. Hah!” he cried, as the door opened and Aunt Marguerite sailed in, drawing herself up in her most dignified way, as she saw who was present, and then ignoring both strangers, she turned to her brother.
“What is the meaning of these inquiries?” she said sternly. “Where is Louise?”
“Ask your own heart, woman,” cried Uncle Luke, furiously. “Gone—gone with some wretched French impostor of your introduction here.”
Aunt Marguerite gazed at him angrily.
“I say where is Louise?” she cried excitedly.