"No."

"No! Whose then?"

"Marietta's."

"Marietta--what, the maid here?"

"Yes."

"Impossible."

"Was it, egad? I thought so, but I am not easily mistaken."

"Unless you dreamt."

"Bah!" exclaimed Mr. Mole, with ineffable contempt; "fiddlesticks!"

"But did you suppose she was in league with Hunston?" demanded Emily
with great eagerness.

"No."

"What then?"

"He was bamboozling her, twisting her round his finger^ as one might
say. He had got up a casual chat, persuading her that he was a private
friend of yours, so he pumped and pumped her about the boys, where they
went, and so forth."