“Oh, that’s it? May I ask what you have to do with my wife, or with Lizzie Pezzack?”
“Whose child is Lizzie’s?”
“Not yours, is it?”
“You said so once; you told your wife so; liar that you were.”
“Very good, my gentleman. You shall have what you want. Woa, mare!” He led her up the beach and sought for a branch to tie his reins to. The mare hung back, terrified by the swishing of the whipped boughs and the roar of the gale overhead: her hoofs, as George dragged her forward, scuffled with the loose-lying stones on the beach. After a minute he desisted and turned on Taffy again.
“Look here; before we have this out there’s one thing I’d like to know. When you were at Oxford, was Honoria maintaining you there?”
“If you must know—yes.”
“And when—when this happened, she stopped the supplies?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, I didn’t know it. She never told me.”