There was no such thing, in reality, as intruding further on this ground. Still, half embarrassed, Mitchell persisted:
'Where is she, though?'
'Where? I can't tell that.'
'With Cromwell?'
'It may be.'
'Would you trust her with him?'
'Is he not to be trusted?' asked August, so quickly as to startle Paul.
If Paul was to be startled—but he was not. The teller in the bank had told him—(Paul was one of those persons with whom acquaintances of every quality lodge their secrets)—of the note Scheffer had taken up with so little fuss and so much amazement. He saw that August for a moment suspected that he knew the facts, but he was not yet prepared to confess such knowledge; for he knew as well as Scheffer what Harry Cromwell was to Josephine. So he answered:
'I should say so, August—if any man on earth could be.'
'So I supposed,' said Scheffer, quietly; and Paul hurried back to the old queer topic, and said, half in jest: 'You mean to keep house, Scheffer, I'll be bound.'