"What did you say was the name of the paper that he edits?"
"And it was he who gave Mr. Bethune a letter of introduction to you?"
But here Lord Musselburgh's manner instantly changed: he had been answering these questions in a careless way, looking out of the carriage window most of the time: now he turned to his companion, and regarded him with some scrutiny.
"Why do you ask, Vin?" he said. "Do you want to find out something further about the old man?"
Vincent's forehead flushed; and his eyes gloomed dark.
"I do not," he made answer, in distinct tones. "I thank goodness my nature is not so suspicious. It seems to me extraordinary that two human beings who have done nothing in the world to deserve it should be regarded with a constant mistrust and doubt. Why? Do you suspect everybody else in the same way?"
"Oh, don't say that I suspect them," Lord Musselburgh exclaimed at once--for he was an exceedingly good-natured young man and had no wish to offend. "I don't know them well enough--don't know anything at all about them, in fact."
"You told me yourself that my aunt and you had been talking them over; and I gathered enough from what you said," was the younger man's retort.
"Mrs. Ellison is naturally anxious about anything that concerns your future, Vin--or seems likely to concern it," Musselburgh said. "And you should be the last to object."
"But I do object," he said, stiffly. "I object altogether to her canvassing the character of any friends of mine; and to her putting her doubts and suspicions and hints about them into any third person's imaginations. Oh, yes, I could make out quite clearly what she had been saying. That night at Henley she came on a visit of inspection; it was perfectly obvious. And what is more, she came with the hope of having her suspicions confirmed; and I suppose she was horribly disappointed that Maisrie Bethune did not drop her _h_'s, and that Mr. Bethune did not beg the loan of a sovereign from her!"
"Why so passionate, Vin--why so indignant?" his companion put in, glancing at him curiously.
"Because I say it is a shame--a monstrous shame," the young man said, with flaming eyes, "that anyone should be insulted so! Is it their fault that they have no friends, that they are unknown, that they are poor? To be wealthy is to be virtuous, of course; if you have a long balance at your bankers', you are above suspicion then; if you have house-boats, and four-in-hands, and gold plate, you're all right. I suppose," said he, altering his tone, "that it was on that very evening--the evening of her inspection--that my aunt was kind enough to talk over those two friends of mine with you, and tell you of all the portentous things she suspected of them. But I presume she did not repeat to you the very last words she used to me as she said good-night?"