Miriam was becoming very nervous. An idea had flashed across her mind which she could in no way get rid of.
"But surely, Major," she said, "the boy had some sort of name when Mrs. Parsley came across him?"
"Yes, I believe he had. Shorty or Snorty, or something like that. However, that's nowhere now. Gideon Anab he is, and Gideon Anab I suppose he will——My dear Mrs. Arkel, are you ill?"
Miriam, her worst suspicions confirmed, had turned deathly pale. It was Shorty then—Shorty at Lesser Thorpe—with Mrs. Parsley. Fate was indeed relentless. He was an iniquitous young scoundrel she knew, and cunning beyond words. And he knew the whole of that black page of her life in London. She wondered had he betrayed her to Mrs. Parsley. Perhaps that was the reason she had not come to see her. She pulled herself together, and put as brave a face on it as she could.
"It is nothing, Major, thank you. The room is a little close, I think. I have been feeling out of sorts all the morning. I think, if you don't mind, I'll go and lie down for a bit."
Gerald glanced sharply at her, and then at Dundas. Like most weak natures he was an easy prey to suspicion. It came strongly upon him now. His wife was much agitated—there was no doubt about that. But the Major seemed perfectly calm and self-possessed. He rose and opened the door for Miriam, and expressed his wish that she would soon be better. Then he returned to the table.
Gerald had it in his mind to remark upon the strangeness of his wife's behaviour. He felt convinced that the Major had something to do with it. And he would not have hesitated to tell him so but for the very weighty reason that he had every intention of getting a cheque out of him before he returned to the country.
"Is your wife with you in town?" he asked.
"Yes, she is with me," replied the Major finitely.
"Are you in rooms?"