She made a sharp movement of impatience. "Oh, don't be so cold-blooded!
Tell me—do tell me—the whole story!"
"My dear Daisy," said Hunt-Goring daringly, "there is practically nothing more to tell."
"But there must be," Daisy argued, ignoring side-issues. "How did the gossip arise? There is never smoke without some fire."
"True," said Hunt-Goring. "But for the truth of the gossip I will not vouch. It ran in this wise. The girl was beautiful—and gay. The man—well, you have had some experience of the species; you know what they are. Trouble arose; there was madness in the girl's family. She became demented; and a certain magic draught did the rest. It was risky of course; but it was a choice of evils. He chose the surest means of protecting his reputation—which, I believe, is considered valuable in his profession."
"Oh, it isn't possible!" protested Daisy. "It simply can't be. How did you hear all this?"
Hunt-Goring laughed. "How does one ever hear anything? I told you I didn't vouch for the truth of it."
"I wonder what I ought to do," said Daisy.
"Do?" He looked at her. "What do you contemplate doing? Is it up to you to do anything?"
Daisy scarcely saw or heard him. "I am thinking of little Olga. She is engaged to him. She—can't know of this evil tale."
"She probably does," said Hunt-Goring. "They were very intimate—she and
Violet Campion."