“I don't believe you.”
“I swear it is true. When you left the 'Gaiety' I searched London for you. If you had only cared for me we might have been very happy. As sure as a fellow loves a woman, so sure is she to like some other chap. Tell me, why did you go away and leave no address?”
“I did leave an address.”
“Well, we won't discuss that. Why didn't you write to me? You knew my address. It's no use saying you didn't.”
“Well, I suppose I was in love with some one else.”
“Were you? You always denied it. Ah! so you were in love with some one else? I knew it—I knew it was that thick-set fellow with the black moustache. I wonder how you could like him—the amount of whisky and water he used to drink.”
“Yes, usen't he? I have served him with as many as six whiskies in an afternoon—Irish, he always drank Irish.”
“How could you like a man who drank?”
“But it wasn't he—I assure you; I give you my word of honour. It really wasn't. I'd tell you if it was.”
“Well, who was it, then? It couldn't be the old man with the beard and white teeth?”