She glanced at him for a moment with an indignant light in her eyes, then picked up her book again.
"Pardon me, Madeline," he said, hurriedly, "I would not offend you for the world, but love such as mine makes a fellow jealous and suspicious."
"Suspicious of what?" she demanded.
"Well, you see," he said, slowly and awkwardly, turning away from her, and staring into the fire, "it's better to be honest about it, isn't it?"
"Honest about what?"
"I don't think I'm naturally jealous," he explained, "but father has told me all about your—your—well, your escapade with that scoundrel, Sterne."
"Is he a scoundrel?"
"You know nothing about him, of course, but he is just the kind of fellow that would take advantage of any service he had rendered."
"I was not aware——"
"Of course not," he interrupted, "but those—well, what I call low-born people have no sense of propriety; and in these days—I am sorry to have to say it—very little reverence for their betters."