“Well then, you shall judge,” I said. “There is never smoke without fire. Mrs. Potter has some grounds for her story,” and sitting up and grasping my fan tightly in both hands, I turned towards him and continued with my usual volubility. I described the visit of the Hayes-Billingtons; her extraordinary beauty and charm, my aunt’s fascination and temptation; how Mrs. Hayes-Billington and I had come out together in the Asphodel.
“Why, she’s just a ditcher,” he interrupted.
“If that means a horrid old tub, she was,” I assented, “but Captain and Mrs. Hayes-Billington could not afford the P. and O.”
I next proceeded to draw an attractive, not to say rosy, picture of the delights of Silliram—tennis tournaments, dancing and picnics. Then I came to a full stop and an appreciable silence ensued.
At last Captain Falkland said abruptly:
“So you were up there for six whole weeks and have never said a word about it?”
“There is a reason for it,” I answered, looking at him steadily. “Ronnie and Mrs. Soames know, and so by great bad luck does Mr. Balthasar. He was at Silliram and dined with us one night.”
“Well, for Heaven’s sake hurry on and tell me this mysterious reason, before I go clean mad.”
For a moment I paused, figuratively to pull myself together. At last I said:
“Did you ever hear of a Mrs. de Lacy?”