Thinking in this way, Vernon suddenly stumbled against a man coming from the opposite direction, also deep in thought. They looked up with a mutual apology and both burst out laughing. The newcomer was Colonel Towton, and he explained himself as they shook hands.
"I have just been to see Miss Dimsdale," said the Colonel crisply, "and she gave me so much to think about that I was in a brown study."
"And I have come from Mrs. Bedge, who also made me think," observed Vernon with a smile, "hence I ran into you. Where are you going, Colonel?"
"Back to town," said the military man promptly, "but I am walking. I always walk as much as possible in London for the sake of necessary exercise. Perhaps you would rather drive?"
"No. I prefer to walk. I am glad to have met you, Towton, as I wished to speak with you privately."
"Curious," said the Colonel, screwing his glass into his eye. "I had you in my mind when I ran into you. Let us walk down the hill and talk: there is more privacy in the open air than anywhere else. Well?"
"Well," echoed Vernon, as they turned their faces towards London, "what do you wish to say?"
"I'll come to the point circuitously," retorted the Colonel smartly. "So you have been to see Mrs. Bedge? Poor old Dimsdale told me about her. My rival's aunt, I believe?"
"Yes. A quaint old lady of the Albert period."
Towton shuddered. "I know the style, Vernon. Stiff and prudish and dowdy. H'm! rather a contrast to our young friend. He's devilish handsome and infernally modern. I suppose the old lady gives him plenty of money: he always seems to be in the forefront of things. Yet I don't like him somehow: his voice doesn't ring true; but there, perhaps I am prejudiced, since he courts Miss Dimsdale. I'm a man, and not a saint, so I feel jealous."