In the meantime the general had taken out from a rolled morocco case a few parchments, which he spread upon the little table—pushing all the glasses together to make room. Then, missing some papers from among the others, he arose and went into the adjoining chamber to look for it.
Lord Enderby seized the opportunity afforded by his temporary absence to stoop and whisper to the squire:
“This sudden news of my sister’s first marriage has fallen like a thunderbolt upon me!”
“Has it?” inquired the squire, with forced calmness.
“I should think so! I had never dreamed of such a thing! Why was it kept a secret from me? Did my father know it?”
“Certainly.”
“My father knew it! Anglesea knew it! You knew it! Why was it kept secret from me?”
“My dear Enderby—because it seemed to your father necessary that it should be kept so,” soothingly replied the squire.
“Was the marriage a discreditable one, then?”
“No, it was not.”