“His name is Wolfenden—Lord Wolfenden.”
“So I gathered; and who is Lord Wolfenden?”
“The only son of Admiral the Earl of Deringham. I don’t know anything more than that about him myself.”
“Admiral Deringham,” the girl repeated, thoughtfully; “the name sounds familiar.”
Mr. Sabin nodded.
“Very likely,” he said. “He was in command of the Channel Squadron at the time of the Magnificent disaster. He was barely half a mile away and saw the whole thing. He came in, too, rightly or wrongly, for a share of the blame.”
“Didn’t he go mad, or something?” the girl asked.
“He had a fit,” Mr. Sabin said calmly, “and left the service almost directly afterwards. He is living in strict seclusion in Norfolk, I believe. I should not like to say that he is mad. As a matter of fact, I do not believe that he is.”
She looked at him curiously. There was a note of reserve in his tone.