Bob shook his head.
"I suspect you, too. I've never got over thinking that it may be you," he said, "for you are all just like each other, and it's obvious some one is telling me lies."
Rivaulx smiled, a deep and dark French smile, which was agonizing to behold. It puzzled Bob dreadfully.
"There," he said, "you smile, and so does Pen, and you all smile. But I believe I've discovered something."
"About who or which?" asked Rivaulx. "Is it about that Goby?"
He might loathe Gordon, but he was jealous of Goby. He promenaded the room, and was already in a rage.
"Yes," said Bob, boldly. "I believe she's not married, and I believe she likes him best."
"The hound, the vile one, the unmeasured beast," roared Rivaulx, "it cannot be. If she loves him (no, I can't believe it), why does she not wed him? I shall slay him. Is she unhappy? Does she weep? I adore her, but if she loves him he shall marry her or I will stab him to the heart."
"I dare say he's not in earnest," said Bob. And the marquis ground his teeth and foamed at the mouth, and again tried to tear his close-cropped hair without the least success.
"Not—oh, sacred dog of a man,—ha—let me kill him!"