But further communications trembled upon her tongue.
The word is just--literally trembled, for they might cause anger, and James' anger--it happened rarely--she held in quite, to herself, uncomfortable respect.
"I fear there is a good deal of objectionable gossip going about the village just now," she tentatively commenced.
"Then pray don't repeat it to me, my love"-- another yawn and an irritable one.

"Gossip as you know is abhorrent to me." "And to me--but one needs to be forearmed with the truth if one is to rebut it conclusively.

Only upon such grounds should I think of mentioning this to you." She made a dash.
"James, have you by chance ever heard peculiar rumours about young Darcy Faircloth's parentage ?" "In mercy, Jane--what a question!--and from you! I am inexpressibly shocked." "So was I, when--I won't mention names--when such rumours were hinted to me.

I assured the person with whom I was talking that I had never heard a word on the subject.

But she said, 'One can't help having eyes.'" "Or, some of you, noses for carrion." Here he gave her the advantage.