"I don't know Madame de Belle-Ile!" "You don't know Madame de Belle-Ile!" cried Tinker in well-affected amazement and surprise.

"Why, only three nights ago I saw you trying to kiss her in the gardens!" "It's a lie!" roared Courtnay.
"The Beauleighs don't lie," said Tinker curtly.
For the moment, breathless with rage, Courtnay could find no words, and Claire, very pale, stared from one to the other with startled, searching eyes.
"At any rate, here's her letter," said Tinker stiffly, holding it out over Blazer's back.
Claire stooped swiftly forward and took the letter.

"I am the person to read that letter," she said with a spirit Courtnay had never dreamed of in her.

"It is my right!" She tore it open, and had just time to read "Mon Artur adore," when Courtnay, with a growl of rage, snatched it from her, and tore it into pieces, crying, "I will not have you victimised by this mischievous young dog! It's an absurd imposition! I claim your trust!" But the doubt of him which had lurked always in the bottom of Claire's heart had sprung to sudden strength; she looked at him with eyes that were veritably chilling in their coldness, and, turning to Tinker, she said, "Is it true ?" "It is--on my honour," said Tinker.
There was a quivering movement in Claire's throat as she choked down a sob: she rose, and walked down the carriage to the seat opposite Tinker, farthest from Courtnay.

Slowly collecting his wits, Courtnay grew eloquent and ran through the whole gamut of the emotions proper to the occasion: honourable indignation, and passion so deep as to be ready to forgive even this heart-breaking distrust.