Mr. Brown, however, was an obstinate person. He was not quick on his feet mentally, so to say, and an insignificant idea had as strong a hold upon his thoughts as an important one. Somehow he managed to tell the tale of the wreck to Mrs. Willoughby and Dolly in the little shifting of companionship which always takes place on leaving table. To do him justice, he told it very shortly, and Mrs. Darche did not chance to be listening at the time. Stubbs was offering everybody coffee, and Marion had a box of cigarettes and was standing before the fireplace with Vanbrugh and Brett, exchanging a few words with the latter. Suddenly Mr. Brown's voice rose above the rest.
"Of course," he was saying, "nobody ever knew positively that the man had really been drowned. But he had never turned up—"
"And probably never will," answered Dolly, glancing nervously at Marion. But she had caught the words and had turned a little pale.
Vanbrugh looked over to Brown.
"For heaven's sake, Jim," he said, in a low voice. "Talk about something else, if you must, you know!"
Mr. Brown's face fell as he realised his mistake.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Just like me! I forgot that poor Darche drowned himself."
Marion recovered herself quickly and came forward, offering her box of cigarettes to everybody, while Brett carried the little silver spirit lamp.
"You must all smoke and make yourselves happy," she said with a smile. "Cousin Annie does not mind it in the least."
"Well, of course," began Mrs. Willoughby, primly polite, "nowadays—"