The young man rose to his feet, and continued eagerly:
‘Let me tell you, Alma, that I don’t believe a word of it. I know you are indiscreet, of course; but I am sure you would never compromise yourself or us in any way. But it’s all over the place that you were seen together over at Rouen, and I want you to give me the authority to say it’s an infernal lie!’
Alma was rather disconcerted. She was at a loss how to reply. But she was so secure in her own sense of happy safety, that she was more amused than annoyed by her cousin’s indignation.
‘Suppose it were the truth. George? Where would be the harm?’
‘Good God! you don’t mean to tell me it is true!’
‘Perhaps not,’ was the quiet reply. ‘I don’t mean to answer such accusations, one way or the other.’
George Craik went livid.
‘But you don’t deny it!’
‘Certainly not. Let people talk what nonsense they please; it is quite indifferent to me.’ ‘Indifferent!’ echoed George Craik. ‘Do you know your character is at stake? Do you know they say that you are this man’s mistress?’
Even yet, Alma betrayed less anger and astonishment than one might have thought possible; for, though the infamous charge shocked her, she was too confident in her own security, in the knowledge of her happy secret, which she could at any moment publish to the world, to be greatly or deeply moved. But if the matter of her cousin’s discourse failed to disconcert her, its manner irritated her not a little. She made an eager movement towards the door as if to leave the room; but, wheeling, round suddenly, she raked him from head to foot with a broadside from her scornful eyes.