"Oh," ignoring the question, "I have never doubted that you could tell us more about Mr. Lisle than most people, and a woman will say anything for a man—a man who is a friend," returned the other lady with terrible significance.
This was hard-hitting with a vengeance, still Mrs. Durand never quailed.
"Shall I tell you who Mr. Lisle really is? I did not intend to mention it, as he begged me to be silent."
(Here Mrs. Creery's smile was really worth going a quarter of a mile to see.)
"I have known him for many years; he is an old friend of mine, and of my brothers."
"Oh, of your brothers!" interrupted her antagonist, looking up at the ceiling with a derisive laugh and an adequate expression of incredulity.
"I am not specially addressing myself to you, Mrs. Creery," exclaimed Mrs. Durand at white heat, but still retaining wonderful command of her temper. "My brothers were at Eton with him," she continued, looking towards her other listeners. "He is the second son of Lord Lingard and the Honourable Gilbert Lisle."
A silence ensued, during which you might have heard a pin drop; Mrs. Creery's face became of a dull beetroot colour, and her eyes looked as if they were about to take leave of their sockets.
"And what brought him masquerading here?" she panted forth at last.
"He was not masquerading, he came in his own name," returned Mrs. Durand with calm decision. "He left the service on coming in for a large property, and spends most of his time travelling about; he is fond"—addressing herself specially to the other ladies, and rather wondering at Helen Denis's scarlet cheeks—"of exploring out-of-the-way places. I believe he has been to Siberia and Central America. The Andamans were a novelty; he came for a few weeks and stayed for a few months because he liked the fishing and boating and the unconventional life."