"Why have you acted so strangely lately? You don't eat, you don't go out; you sit around staring and seem to be listening—almost as if you were afraid—"
"I ain't—I ain't afraid. Who says I'm afraid? An' I don't want you to go worryin' y'self sick over me—I ain't a kid no more."
"No, I'm afraid you're not." And sighing, she turned away. But as she crossed the room, her step slow and listless, he spoke, his head down-bent and face hidden between clenched hands, voicing, almost despite himself, the questions that had tortured him so long.
"Say, Hermy, where's—Geoff? How is he—I mean you—you ain't—heard anything—have you?"
"No," she answered softly, without turning, "what should I hear? I only know he's—gone. How should I hope to hear anything any more?"
"I—I thought he was—goin' t' marry you."
"So he was, but I—couldn't let him—marry—a thief's sister," she said in the same low, even voice.
"Ah!" cried Spike, writhing, "why did he go an' tell ye about me after he told me he never would—why did he tell ye?"
"He didn't tell me!" cried Hermione, with curling lip.
"Didn't he—oh—didn't he?" said Spike, his voice high and quivering, "didn't Geoff tell ye? Then—say, Hermy, who—who did?"