You see, reader, how polite they were, but you can neither see nor conceive how great was the effort made by each to conceal the tumult that agitated the breast and flushed the countenance, while the tongue was thus ably controlled. It did not last long, however. Oliver, being thrown off his guard, asked a number of confused questions, and Rose, in her somewhat irrelevant replies, happened to make some reference to “that villain Clearemout.”
“Villain?” echoed Oliver in undisguised amazement.
“The villain,” repeated Rose, with a flushed face and flashing eye.
“What? why? how?—really, excuse me, Miss Ellis—I—I—the villain—Clearemout—you don’t—”
There is no saying how many more ridiculous exclamations Oliver might have made had not Rose suddenly said,—“Surely, Mr Trembath, you have heard of his villainy?”
“No, never; not a word. Pray do tell me, Miss Ellis.”
Rose at once related the circumstances of her late adventure, with much indignation in her tone and many a blush on her brow.
Before she had half done, Oliver’s powers of restraint gave way.
“Then you never loved him?” he exclaimed.
“Loved him, sir! I do not understand—”