you're walking round with that girl, singing hymns and talking of
your class in Sunday-school, or if you're insinuating that you're a
millionaire, and think of buying the place for a summer hotel, I should
say you'd better quit that kind of lying. But, on the other hand, I
don't see the necessity of your dancing round here with a shot gun, and
yelling for Harkins's blood, or counting that package of greenbacks in
the lap of Miss Scott, to be truthful. It seems to me there ought to be
something between the two."
"But, George, don't you think--you are on such good terms with Mrs. Hale
and her mother--that you might tell them the whole story? That is, tell
it in your own way; they will hear anything from you, and believe it."
"Thank you; but suppose I don't believe in lying, either?"
"You know what I mean! You have a way, d--n it, of making everything
seem like a matter of course, and the most natural thing going."
"Well, suppose I did. Are you prepared for the worst?"
Falkner was silent for a moment, and then replied, "Yes, anything would
be better than this suspense."
"I don't agree with you. Then you would be willing to have them forgive
us?"
"I don't understand you."
"I mean that their forgiveness would be the worst thing that could
happen. Look here, Ned. Stop a moment; listen at that door. Mrs. Hale
has the tread of an angel, with the pervading capacity of a cat. Now
listen! I don't pretend to be in love with anybody here, but if I were I
should hardly take advantage of a woman's helplessness and solitude with
a sensational story about myself. It's not giving her a fair show. You
know she won't turn you out of the house."
"No," said Falkner, reddening; "but I should expect to go at once, and
that would be my only excuse for telling her."
"Go! where? In your preoccupation with that girl you haven't even found
the trail by which Manuel escaped. Do you intend to camp outside the
house, and make eyes at her when she comes to the window?"
"Because you think nothing of flirting with Mrs. Hale," said Falkner
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