"Oh, never mind that!" Haslemere cut me short. "You have married her without consulting us. If you'd asked my advice, I should certainly—but we won't stir up the past! Let sleeping dogs lie, and bygones be bygones, and so on."
"Yes, we'll try and do our best for your wife," Violet added hastily, with an absent-minded eye. "When the sale is over, and we have time to breathe, you must bring her here, and——"
"You both seem to misunderstand the situation, although I thought I'd made things clear in my letter," I said. "You cruelly misjudged Maida. You believed lies about her, and put a public shame upon the innocent child. Do you think I'd ever bring her into my brother's house until he and his wife had begged her forgiveness, and atoned as far as in their power?"
"Good heavens, Jack, you must be mad!" Haslemere exclaimed. "I'd forgotten the affair until you revived it in my mind by announcing that you intended to marry a girl whose presentation I'd caused to be cancelled. Then I remembered. I acted at the time only as it was my duty to act, according to information received. An American acquaintance of Violet's—a widow of good birth whose word could not be doubted, told us a tragic story in which Miss Odell had played—well, to put it mildly, in consideration for you—had played an unfortunate part."
"The name of this American widow was Granville," I cut in, "and the tragedy was that of her son."
"It was. I see you know."
"I know the true version of the story. And I expect you and Violet to listen to it."
"We can't listen to anything further now, dear boy. We've more important—I beg your pardon—we've more pressing things to attend to," said Violet. "You've a right to your point of view, and we don't want to hurt your feelings. But I don't think you ought to want us to go against our convictions, unless to be civil, for your sake, and avoid scandal. We'll do our best, I told you; you must be satisfied with that. And really, we can't talk about this any longer, because just before you came we'd a telegram from Drivenny to say he and Combes and Blackburn will be here an hour earlier than the appointment. That will land them on us at any instant; and I don't care to be agitated, please!"
"Drivenny is the great jewel expert," Haslemere condescended to enlighten my amateurish intelligence. "Combes is the Scotland Yard man, as you know: and Blackburn is the famous detective from New York who's in London now. We don't understand why they come before their time, but no doubt they've an excellent reason and we shall hear it soon. You shall see them, if you like. You're interested in detectives."
"It sounds like a plot," I remarked, so angry with my brother and his wife that I found a mean pleasure in trying to upset them. "You'd better make jolly well sure that the right men come. As you are responsible for the jewels——"