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 “but it's no use to accuse her of it; she'd deny it. And yet, on the other hand, Peter, she'll be nervous until I do accuse her of it. She'll be dropping things, breaking up my china. I dare say I'd best accuse her at once, storm at her some to quiet her nerves, and get it over.”

This monologue spurred Peter's impatience into an agony.

“I believe you were wanting me, Captain?” he suggested, with a certain urge for action.

The Captain's little pleasantry faded. He looked at Peter and became uncomfortable again.

“Well, yes, Peter. Downtown I heard—well, a rumor connected with you—”

Such an extraordinary turn caught the attention of even the fidgety Peter. He looked at his employer and wondered blankly what he had heard.

“I don't want to intrude on your private affairs, Peter, not at all— not—not in the least—”

“No-o-o,” agreed Peter, completely at a loss.

The old gentleman rubbed his thin hands together, lifted his eyebrows up and down nervously. “Are—are you about to—to leave me, Peter?”

Peter was greatly surprised at the slightness and simplicity of this question and at the evidence of emotion it carried.

“Why, no,” he cried; “not at all! Who told you I was? It is a deep gratification to me—”