The young woman rested her elbows on the table, with her chin in her hands, gazing across at him earnestly and innocently. Poor George felt that it would be almost impossible to refuse anything to those large beseeching eyes.
'I want you to tell me about your mine.'
All the geniality that had gradually come into Wentworth's face and manner vanished instantly.
'So this is the old business over again,' he said.
'How can you say that!' cried Jennie reproachfully. 'I am asking for my own satisfaction entirely, and not for my paper. Besides, I tell you frankly what I want to know, and don't try to get it by indirect means—by false pretences, as you once said.'
'How can you expect me to give you information that does not belong to me alone? I have no right to speak of a business which concerns others without their permission.'
'Ah, then, there are at least two more concerned in the mine,' said Jennie gleefully. 'Kenyon is one, I know; who is the other?'
'Miss Brewster, I will tell you nothing.'
'But you have told me something already. Please go on and talk, Mr. Wentworth—about anything you like—and I shall soon find out all I want to know about the mine.'
She paused, but Wentworth remained silent, which, indeed, the bewildered young man realized was the only safe thing to do.