“Stop, Laurence--it isn’t true, it isn’t true! It was Mr. Cole who gathered flowers and fruit for me, and who looked at the fish with me--not Mr. Carruthers at all. And it was Mr. Standing whose accompaniments I played and who talked about poetry with me, not--” “Mr. Standing? He’s another beauty! You choose your friends well, Miss Christie. I feel I am not worthy to be admitted among the number. I am too dull.” “You are too rude,” said I, my spirit rising. “I don’t know what you mean by calling them ‘beauties;’ but none of the gentlemen you sneer at would have thought of insulting me and trying to make me unhappy, just because I sometimes talked to other people.” “No, you tried to be impartial, I see,” he sneered again. “But I don’t think you succeeded. You were not on the river between twelve and two o’clock in the morning with all the men-visitors at Denham Court, were you?” “No,” said I; then, stung to the quick by his sneers--“I wasn’t at Denham Court long enough.” “Oh!” said Laurence, more angrily than ever. He was so angry that he began to speak again two or three times, but only stammered and broke off. At last he said, “You--you were not there long; but you--you made good use of your time; for by this morning the fame of your exploits had spread all over the neighborhood.” “My exploits!” “Yes. This morning, before you arrived, Mr. Rayner had heard of them.” “Mr. Rayner! Oh, that is not surprising!” Laurence turned upon me sharply. “Mr. Rayner has a friend staying there,” said I, with sudden caution. I must not let out things concerning the people I was living with which they did not wish to have known. “Oh, more mysteries! So Mr. Rayner set a spy upon you; I can quite believe it of him.” “I did not mean that. Of course he would not think of such a thing. And there is no need of a spy to watch my actions, for I don’t do anything to be ashamed of. And Mr. Rayner knows that, for he has said nothing to me about my conduct, which you seem to think so disgraceful.” “Mr. Rayner! No, of course he would not mind. It is nothing to him whether you endanger your reputation by going out alone late at night with one of the most notorious fast men about town.” “But how could I tell he was notorious, Laurence?” said I--I couldn’t be spirited any longer; I wanted to cry. “Lady Mills said afterwards that he was dangerous; but how could I tell before? Nobody ran away from him, and all the ladies seemed fond of him, and rather jealous because he talked to me. And he didn’t say wicked things--not half so wicked as the things they said. Oh, Laurence, don’t be harsh to me! How could I tell?” He was touched at last; the hand with which he had been angrily pulling at his mustache dropped, and he was turning slowly towards me, when the church clock and the far-off Beaconsburgh town-hall clock began to strike seven together. “Oh!” said I, half turning instinctively towards the house. “What is it?” asked Laurence, suddenly stiffening again.