‘Who says?’ he demanded, scared at discovery so swift. Then, bettering his defence: ‘Tuppenny, indeed! she’s not worth it. I haven’t given her tuppence; I haven’t given her a penny. I haven’t given her anything, so there! If she says I have, she’s a liar.’
This seemed almost conclusive; Davidina’s faith in the report wavered. But whenever Jonathan was voluble she distrusted him; so now.
‘It isn’t her word I’m going by,’ she said. ‘Somebody saw you.’
Mr. Trimblerigg’s mind made an alert movement—very characteristic. He was not ashamed of what he had done; he only didn’t like being caught.
‘You said Tuppenny,’ he retorted. ‘And I say—I didn’t give her tuppence.’
Davidina pressed him along the track, as he meant her to. ‘Then what did you give her?’
‘I didn’t give her anything; I’ve told you so already. She gave me sixpence.’
His tone was triumphant, for now, in his own time and in his own way, he had made a clean breast of it. Davidina’s face was a study.
‘Sold again!’ he said, watching the effect; and curiously he did not mean himself, or his virtue, or anything else belonging to him; he meant Davidina. Having got ahead of her with the facts, he considered himself top-dog for that once at least.
But within a few hours of that avowal an amazing thing happened. It happened during the night; for when he went to bed the sixpence was in his trouser pocket, and when he got up in the morning it was gone; nor did he dare to tax Davidina with the theft.