"She will soon be out of it," answered Prelice soothingly. "I am quite sure that she will be acquitted. Where are you going now?"
"Home to my flat. I am quite worn out. Come and look me up this evening about ten or eleven, when I have had a sleep. I live at Alexander Mansions, Kensington Gore. Number Forty."
"Alexander Mansions," repeated Prelice, surprised; "why, here is the long arm of coincidence, Ned. Mrs. Dolly Rover has asked me to a masked ball, which she is giving in her flat—a most unsuitable place for a bal masque I think."
"Oh, no," said Shepworth, with a flush of colour, though why he should show this emotion Prelice could not say; "the flat occupied by Mrs. Rover is above mine. She has, in fact, two flats furnished on a most palatial scale. Her husband is a rich little beast, you know."
"Why a little beast?" asked Prelice, rather perplexed.
Shepworth's colour grew deeper. "He is not worthy of his wife. She was Miss Newton, you know, very clever and very beautiful. Dolly—fancy a man being called Dolly——"
"Short for Adolphus. It is not an uncommon abbreviation."
"It is contemptible for a man—and he's a rat. Dolly Rover," added Shepworth contemptuously, "fooh! the effeminate monkey. Well, good-bye. I'll see you between ten and eleven."
When Ned jumped into a cab, Prelice walked home wondering why he should run down the dapper little stockbroker whom Miss Newton had married. Then he remembered that Shepworth had admired Miss Newton before she changed her name to Rover.