I muttered that I knew no more of him than his name.
'Perhaps not that,' she retorted scornfully.
I admitted that it might be so.
My lady's eyes sparkled and her cheeks flamed. 'Before Heaven, you are a fool!' she cried. 'How dare you come to me with such a story? How dare you traduce a man without proof or warranty! And my cousin! Why, it passes belief. On the word of a nameless wanderer admitted to our table on sufferance you accuse an honourable gentleman, our kinsman and our host, of--Heaven knows of what, I don't! I tell you, you shame me!' she continued vehemently. 'You abuse my kindness. You abuse the shelter given to us. You must be mad, stark mad, to think such things. Or----'
She stopped on a sudden and looked down frowning. When she looked up again her face was changed. 'Tell me,' she said in a constrained voice, 'did any one--did the Waldgrave Rupert suggest this to you?'
'God forbid!' I said.
The answer seemed to embarrass her. 'Where is he?' she asked, looking at me suspiciously.
I told her that I did not know.
'Why did he not come to supper?' she persisted.
Again I said I did not know.