"Really."
"Hasn't—you have heard so, haven't you?"
He kept twitching his shoulders and shifting his place continually, and his fingers were never still, always at the leaves of his book or rubbing his face which seemed to itch; or he snapped them nervously and continuously as he jerked about in his seat.
"I suppose," he said slyly, "people talk about me, Quarren."
"Do you know anybody immune to gossip?" inquired Quarren, smiling.
"No; that's true. But I don't care anything for people.... I read, I have my horses and dogs—but I'm going to move away. I told you that, didn't I?"
"I believe you did."
Ledwith stared at his book with lack-lustre eyes, then, almost imperceptibly shifted his gaze craftily askance:
"There's no use pretending to you, Quarren; is there?"
Quarren said nothing.