“Ah, yes, here it is! ‘Miss Marlowe sailed in the Orion on the fourteenth, in company with Mr. Garland, late of the Barton Theatre Royal; engagement at Melbourne.’ The Orion, the fourteenth! I am glad it occurred to me to jot it down with the particulars.”
Lord Cecil stared at him as if he were in doubt whether he or the marquis was mad, and the marquis, closing the book, regarded him with a calm, set placidity.
Then Lord Cecil laughed. It was an unpleasant laugh to hear.
“Who told you this fable?” he demanded.
“I got it from Spenser Churchill!” said the marquis, promptly.
“Spenser Churchill! Spenser Churchill!” repeated Lord Cecil. “What had he to do with it?”
“Too much,” said the marquis. “Very much against my advice, he insisted—you know he is a professional philanthropist?”—with a sneer—“he insisted upon pleading your cause with the young lady. But it was of no avail; even so distinguished an individual could not persuade a woman to keep her faith.”
Lord Cecil strode up and down, his physical weariness and exhaustion playing their part in his mental disturbance.
“It is not true!” he asseverated, vehemently. “It is not true! Why should Spenser Churchill be mixed up in this matter? Why——”
“That is easily answered,” said the marquis. “It appears that he discovered that the young lady’s guardian was an old friend of his. I don’t know his name——” which was true. “I don’t know anything more than I’ve told you; and forgive me for saying so, that, seeing the reception my information has received at your hands, I’m very sorry I know so much! I hate and detest this kind of business. It was bad enough when I took a personal interest in it, but now——” he shrugged his shoulders. “It is a pity that the world could not have got on without women; we men would have been better and happier, believe me.”