"Excuse me, Mr. Lambert, but I've not as yet asked you a question. I've made a number of statements, and you've furnished me with a good deal of gratuitous information, for which I'm deeply obliged. We now come to the pith of the whole matter, which is simply this. Did you, or did you not, marry Lady Isabelle McLane to Lieutenant Kingsland?"
"What! The lady to whom you're engaged?"
"Could I be engaged to a married woman, Mr. Lambert?"
"My dear sir, you may take my word for it, I did not. I shouldn't think of such a thing. Let me assure you on the honour of my sacred office, that Lady Isabelle is not, and cannot be married to Lieutenant Kingsland."
"Ah, then Kingsland is married."
The parson caught his breath in his relief at the escape from the dreaded question, which he had supposed was inevitable. He had been too confidential.
"I did not say so, sir," he replied with dignity.
"Quite true, Mr. Lambert, you did not say so," persisted his tormentor, opening the door, "and so I suppose you'd prefer not to have me ask if you married Miss Fitzgerald to Lieutenant Kingsland?"
"I would certainly prefer not to answer that question, and now I must really go upstairs;" and without waiting for further parley, the little man scuttled out of the room.
Stanley was preparing to follow him at his leisure, when the door opened, and Kent-Lauriston entered.