But he pretended the utmost seriousness. "That wasn't all," he declared. "One day I tried to jolly Benny along, cheer him up a bit, you know! He'd been so awfully down. I tried to tell him something about the best fruit hanging high, that there was nothing like perseverance, and all that sort of thing. He told me to mind only my own business. Yes, he really did, Rose! Wasn't it perfectly shocking of him? I told him it was, and he said he'd like to knock some sense into me. That's when I suggested his going off and shooting things."
"You had a fortunate escape," she said dryly.
"Yes, hadn't I?" he agreed. "But something disagreeable always happens when I try to do you a kindness, Rose! There was that chap Ogilvie; he seemed to turn against me from the moment I put him wise."
At the unexpected mention of the name, her heart seemed to stand still; but a flash of insight warned her that she was upon the clue to the mystery that had so tormented her. She managed to smile at Pendleton, and to ask, "How was that?"
"Oh, that last afternoon, you know, you've no idea how well you and Benny looked, seated up there on that red blanket. I called Ogilvie's attention to it—awfully hard to make conversation with a fellow like him, you know. I said something about you and Flood being well suited to each other, and he seemed rather surprised, and actually had the nerve to ask me what I meant. The way he spoke, or something, put it into my head that he—er—he—well, that I would be doing you a good turn by telling him a thing or two. I did."
"What?" she managed to ask, to his dramatic pause.
"Oh, I believe I said that you and Flood must be finding it very good to be together these few days; that of course nothing had been announced yet, and something of that sort. I remember he said I must be misinformed, which quite provoked me. A fellow doesn't like to be contradicted, you know. What? I assured him I was in a position to know, and threw in a word or two about your—er—millions being joined to Benny's, or something of that sort. Most combative chap, Ogilvie! Tried to tell me that a woman of your type would not be likely to stay up in the mountains so far from a fiancé. 'Pon my word, I almost thought the fellow must be really hit, himself! I said he probably hadn't had much experience with women of your type; never can tell what freak you girls will take to next. Oh, we had quite a word or two, I assure you. Ended in his being huffy. Wouldn't walk up the hill beside me, and all that, you know. What?"
Rosamund was never more grateful in her life than to the unsuspecting man whose coming into the box ended Pendleton's chatter. During the rest of the evening she dared not let herself think of his revelations. On the way home, however, she made herself sure of the truth of part of them.
"What happened between Marshall and Mr. Flood?" she asked Cecilia.
Mrs. Maxwell gave an exclamation of impatience. "Oh, my dear! Marshall has been altogether too insufferable! Mr. Flood has spoiled him. He got to the point where he thought he owned Mr. Flood. Oh, yes, there was a fight, of course." She raised her eyebrows towards Yetta, who, opposite them, was peering out at the receding street-lights with eyes still bright with wonder. Rosamund, catching the signal, said,