"Lady Corsoon!" Vernon changed colour and bit his lip.
"Yes. She didn't ask you to her ball, did she? She wouldn't, of course, seeing that you are in love with her daughter Lucy. That young lady is to marry money, and you haven't any but what you make out of your detective business. Perhaps if I tell her that you are doing well as Nemo, she might----"
By this time Vernon was on his feet. "Don't you dare, don't you dare!" he panted hoarsely, and the perspiration beaded his brow.
"Oh!" Maunders raised his eyebrows. "Then it is true, after all."
"Sit down," commanded Vernon savagely, resuming his own seat. "We must talk this matter out, if you please."
"I came here for that purpose. Only don't keep me too late. I am engaged to Lucy for the third waltz, and must not disappoint her."
Vernon winced. "You have no right to call Miss Corsoon by her Christian name."
"Why not? She's not engaged to you. I love her, and, as yet--as yet, mind you, Vernon--I have as good a right as you to cut in."
"I understood that you were as good as engaged to Miss Dimsdale."
"Oh!" Maunders lightly flipped away a cigarette ash. "The shoe's on the other foot there. She loves me, but I don't love her. Still, there's money in the business if Ida becomes Mrs. Maunders. Old Dimsdale's got no end of cash, and Ida inherits everything as his only child. But he wants her to marry Colonel Towton---you know, the chap who did so well in some hill-tribe extermination in India. But Ida loves me, and Towton's got no chance, unless I marry Lucy Corsoon and give him a look in."