"He knows," she said, trembling with anger--the little vixen.
"I know nothing!" Jim returned sheepishly. "I came in, and when I--Kitty flew out and attacked me, don't you see, sir?"
"Very well, my dear," I answered, "if you do not feel able to explain, Jim had better go. Only, if he goes now, of course I cannot say when he will come back."
"I will come back, Kitty, whenever you want me," said the young fool.
"Shut your mouth, sir," I shouted. "Now, Kitty, attend to me. What is it?"
"Ask him--to whom he gave his photograph at Frome!" she said, in a breathless sort of way.
"His photograph? Why, that is just what we were talking about yesterday," I replied sharply. "I thought it did not interest you, my girl, when I told you all about it last night."
"That photograph!"--with withering contempt--"I do not mean that! Do you think I suspect him of that?" She stepped forward as though to go to him, and her face altered wonderfully. Then she recollected herself and fell back. "No," she said coldly, "to what woman, sir, did you give your photograph at Frome?"
"To no woman at all," he said emphatically.
"Then look at this!" she retorted. She held out as she spoke a photograph, which I identified at once as the portrait we had seen at Gold's, or a copy of that one. I snatched it from Jim. "Where did you get this, my girl?" I asked briskly.