“Bobbie,” he said awfully, “I tell you this is not an affair—at any rate, it is different from other kinds of affairs.”
“So are all other kinds of affairs,” said Bobbie. “That’s why the judges have been working overtime. I dare say I am cynical: I can afford to be, I’m a bachelor. The lady has a husband?”
“Heloise is married,” said Gordon gravely.
“Heloise? I must remember that name. And Trenter, I presume, is going into the country to post the necessary telegrams to give verisimilitude to an otherwise unconvincing narrative. I hate quoting Gilbert at you, but the situation is a little Gilbertian. What is she like?”
Gordon was not inclined to particularise.
“Of course, if you’re going to make trouble——”
“Don’t be an ass,” said Bobbie. “I’m not going to give you away because, for some extraordinary reason, I believe you.”
A knock at the door: it was Eleanor.
“Will you see Mr. Superbus?” she said.
“No,” snapped Gordon. “Get me a cab.”