spoken of it to you unless I was sure you knew it?" Her voice was wholly
genuine, as it had been throughout the wretched interview: Fanny's
sincerity was unquestionable. "George, I wouldn't have told you, if you
didn't know. What other reason could you have for treating Eugene as you
did, or for refusing to speak to them like that a while ago in the yard?
Somebody must have told you?"

"Who told you?" he said.

"What?"

"Who told you there was talk? Where is this talk? Where does it come
from? Who does it?"

"Why, I suppose pretty much everybody," she said. "I know it must be
pretty general."

"Who said so?"

"What?"

George stepped close to her. "You say people don't speak to a person of
gossip about that person's family. Well, how did you hear it, then? How
did you get hold of it? Answer me!"

Fanny looked thoughtful. "Well, of course nobody not one's most intimate
friends would speak to them about such things, and then only in the
kindest, most considerate way."

"Who's spoken of it to you in any way at all?" George demanded.

"Why--" Fanny hesitated.

"You answer me!"

"I hardly think it would be fair to give names."

"Look here," said George. "One of your most intimate friends is that
mother of Charlie Johnson's, for instance. Has she ever mentioned this
to you? You say everybody is talking. Is she one?"

"Oh, she may have intimated--"

"I'm asking you: Has she ever spoken of it to you?"

"She's a very kind, discreet woman, George; but she may have
intimated--"

George had a sudden intuition, as there flickered into his mind the
picture of a street-crossing and two absorbed ladies almost run down by
a fast horse. "You and she have been talking about it to-day!" he cried.
"You were talking about it with her not two hours ago. Do you deny it?"

"I--"

"Do you deny it?"

"No!"

"All right," said George. "That's enough!"

She caught at his arm as he turned away. "What are you going to do,
George?"

"I'll not talk about it, now," he said heavily. "I think you've done a
good deal for one day, Aunt Fanny!"

And Fanny, seeing the passion in his face, began to be alarmed. She
tried to retain possession of the black velvet sleeve which her fingers
had clutched, and he suffered her to do so, but used this leverage to
urge her to the door. "George, you know I'm sorry for you, whether you
care or not," she whimpered. "I never in the world would have spoken of
it, if I hadn't thought you knew