"But, Mr. Everard, what am I to tell you? I never said that Lady Crawford even—"
"No, no; but you looked it, and you can't deny that she mentioned my name. You can't look me in the face now, and say she didn't. No; I thought not. By Jove, it's an awful fate to be at the mercy of a woman of that kind, to be taunted with—with sins you don't even know the name of, with crimes you never—"
"Mr. Everard, am I taunting you?"
"Yes, you are, Miss Lefroy—you know you are," he answers bitterly. "Your eyes are taunting me, your laugh is taunting me; you—you are making me utterly miserable."
"Am I really?" answers Pauline, jumping up and moving across the room. "Then I had better leave you at once."
He makes no effort to follow her, but sits staring blankly out at the chill winter landscape, for the poor young fellow is wofully in love and full of despondent diffidence.
"Don't look so sad," says a small mysterious voice at his side. "I heard what she said, and it was not very bad, after all."
"You did, you jolly little girl?" he exclaims eagerly. "You'll tell me what it was, won't you?"
"Oh, I daren't! I'm forbidden to open my lips when there are visitors. I always say the wrong thing, you know. They'd be mad if they knew I was talking to you now. I've been hiding behind the curtain for the last hour, and heard everything."
"You'll tell me? I'll swear, if you like, that they shall never know. Do, do, you dear little girl! I will promise to bring you the biggest box of sweets you ever had in your life, if you do."