'I also—' Hugo began.
'I may tell you at once,' Darcy proceeded with increasing self-consciousness, 'that when I had the pleasure of meeting you before, Mr. Hugo, I was forced by circumstances, and by my promise to a dead friend, to behave in a manner which was very distasteful to me. I was obliged to lie to you, to play a trick on you—in short—well, I can only ask you for your sympathy. I have a kind of a forlorn notion that you'll understand—after I've explained, as I mean to do—'
'If you refer to the pretended death of Tudor's wife—' said Hugo.
'Then you know?' Darcy cried, astounded.
'I know. I know everything, or nearly everything.'
'How?' Darcy retreated towards the piano.
'I will explain how some other time,' Hugo replied, going also to the piano and facing his guest. 'You did magnificently that night, doctor. Don't imagine for a moment that my feelings towards you in regard to that disastrous evening are anything but those of admiration. And now tell me about her—about her. She is well?'
Hugo put a hand on the man's shoulder, and persuaded him back to his chair.
'She is well—I hope and believe,' answered Darcy.
'You don't see her often?'