“I know Moss—a hard man. Go on.”
“But they say,” continued Slummers, raising his eyes for a moment to his master’s face, “that Mr. Newcombe is going to set things right by marrying an heiress.”
Stephen smiled and leaned back in his chair.
“Oh, they do, do they; and who is this most fortunate young lady?”
“Lady Isabel Earlsley.”
Stephen started forward.
“What!”
“Lady Isabel Earlsley,” repeated Slummers, without the slightest change of voice or countenance.
“No—it’s a lie!” said Stephen, with a chuckle. “Where did you hear it?”
“At the club. It is the talk of town, sir. Mr. Newcombe has been in close attendance upon her ladyship for some time. They say that her ladyship’s brougham nearly ran over him, and that she took him home. It is true; her own coachman told me.”