The marchioness’s look of horror would have deceived experts.
“How utterly depraved and shocking! I never dreamed it was so bad as that! I almost wish you hadn’t told me anything about it. Ahem! Mr. Despencer—what do they say is the friend’s name?”
“Oh, really!” For a moment Despencer looked startled, then he smiled queerly. “That is not at all a nice question. I really don’t think you ought to ask me that. I have such a dislike for scandal.”
“So have I, except when I am listening to it in the interest of propriety,” was the firm answer. “I insist on knowing the friend’s name.”
“Well, I have heard the lease is in the name of a Mr. Brown.”
“Brown? Nonsense! That must be an assumed name.”
“Very likely. In these cases I believe it is not usual to put the gentleman’s real name in the lease.”
“Then—then—Mr. Despencer, what is the real name?”
“Oh, marchioness!” Despencer drew back and shook his head reproachfully. “Really, you will bore me if you go on. I couldn’t even guess the gentleman’s real name. It might be anything—Smith, or Jones, or President Kruger. It might be Hammond.”
The marchioness shook her head with conviction.