"I'll tell you what, Hunsden—Brown is an old gossip."
"He is; but in the meantime, if his gossip be founded on less than fact—if you took no particular interest in Miss Zoraïde—why, O youthful pedagogue! did you leave your place in consequence of her becoming Madame Pelet?"
"Because—" I felt my face a grow a little hot; "because—in short, Mr. Hunsden, I decline answering any more questions," and I plunged my hands deep in my breeches pocket.
Hunsden triumphed: his eyes—his laugh announced victory.
"What the deuce are you laughing at, Mr. Hunsden?"
"At your exemplary composure. Well, lad, I'll not bore you; I see how it is: Zoraïde has jilted you—married some one richer, as any sensible woman would have done if she had had the chance."
I made no reply—I let him think so, not feeling
