“So it has me, Frank,” said she. “Who told you?”
“I don’t know whether I ought to tell, Miss Pimpernell,” I replied, hesitatingly. “It was disclosed to me in confidence, and—”
“No matter, no matter, my clear boy,” said the old lady briskly. “Then you ought not to tell me. But, at the same time, Frank, I don’t believe a word of it! If Mr Mawley had been meditating anything of the sort, I would have been his first confidante! I don’t think there’s a word of truth in it, Frank, no matter who your informant was. I daresay the rumour has got about just because he has taken a house, which he can very well afford, having got tired of living in lodgings; and small blame to him, say I! He’s no more going to get married than I am, Frank; and I do not believe that likely, do you?”
She laughed cheerily, tapping me on the cheek with her glove.
She was always petting and caressing me; and, I believe, considered me a sort of big baby exclusively her own property.
“But his taking a house looks suspicious,” I said, willing to be more convinced.
“Not a bit of it,” said Miss Pimpernell, sturdily. “Why, if Monsieur Parole d’Honneur took a house, would that be any reason for his getting married? Ah, I know, Frank, who has put all this nonsense in your head! It is that gossiping old Shuffler. I’ll give him a lecture when I next catch him,” and she shook her fist comically in the air, to the intense wonderment of Miss Spight, who was crossing the road.
“But, mind, I didn’t tell you so, Miss Pimpernell. Don’t tell him that I repeated what he said?”
“Stuff and nonsense,” she said. “Why, he’ll tell everybody he meets the news in confidence, just the same as he did you. I’ll give him a good wigging, I tell you! Mr Mawley is not going to be married in a hurry; and if he is, not to the young person you think, Master Frank.”
“I did not mention anybody, Miss Pimpernell,” I said, in confusion; for, her keen black eyes seemed to penetrate into my very heart, and search out my secret fears.