Neville has made his remark in a watchfully advancing, and yet
furtive and shy manner, very expressive of that peculiar air
already noticed, of being at once hunter and hunted. Edwin has
made his retort with an abruptness not at all polite. They stop
and interchange a rather heated look.

'I hope,' says Neville, 'there is no offence, Mr. Drood, in my
innocently referring to your betrothal?'

'By George!' cries Edwin, leading on again at a somewhat quicker
pace; 'everybody in this chattering old Cloisterham refers to it I
wonder no public-house has been set up, with my portrait for the
sign of The Betrothed's Head. Or Pussy's portrait. One or the
other.'

'I am not accountable for Mr. Crisparkle's mentioning the matter to
me, quite openly,' Neville begins.

'No; that's true; you are not,' Edwin Drood assents.

'But,' resumes Neville, 'I am accountable for mentioning it to you.
And I did so, on the supposition that you could not fail to be
highly proud of it.'

Now, there are these two curious touches of human nature working
the secret springs of this dialogue. Neville Landless is already
enough impressed by Little Rosebud, to feel indignant that Edwin
Drood (far below her) should hold his prize so lightly. Edwin
Drood is already enough impressed by Helena, to feel indignant that
Helena's brother (far below her) should dispose of him so coolly,