Though wondering what he was working up to, she still held her peace.
“Gissing, the fellow’s name was. Ever hear of him?”
The question being direct, she murmured: “Yes; of course. What of it?”
“Ever hear how he got married?”
“Not that I remember.”
“When something went wrong—I’ve forgotten what—he went out into the street with a vow. It was a vow to marry the first woman he met who’d marry him.”
A shiver went through her. It was just such a foolhardy thing as Rashleigh himself was likely to attempt. She was afraid. She was afraid, and yet reangered just when her wrath was beginning to die down.
“And he did it!” he cried, with a force in which it was impossible for her not to catch a note of personal implication.
It was unlikely that he could be trying to trap her by any such cheap melodramatic threat as this; and yet––