“Oh, what does it mean?”
Her voice recalled me to myself.
“It may mean what it likes,” said I, calmly. “As I said, it makes no difference to me. I do not and will not believe that he ever did anything dishonorable.”
“Do you not?” said she, tremulously. “But—but—Anna Sartorius does know something of him.”
“Who is Anna Sartorius?”
“Why, that domino who spoke to us just now. But I forgot. You will not know her. She wanted long ago to tell me about him, and I would not let her, so she said I might learn for myself, and should never leave off until I knew the lesson by heart. I think she has kept her word,” she added, with a heartsick sigh.
“You surely would not believe her if she said the same thing fifty times over,” said I, not very reasonably, certainly.
“I do not know,” she replied, hesitatingly. “It is very difficult to know.”
“Well, I would not. If the whole world accused him I would believe nothing except from his own lips.”