"Not interrupting a bit of gossip, I trust?" a cynical voice inquired; at the same time a third person, who had quietly approached, paused to regard them.
"Ah, Lord Ronsdale!" Just for an instant the lady was disconcerted. "Gossip?" She repeated in a tone that meant: "How can you?"
He waved his hand; leaned against the table. "Beg your pardon! Very wrong of me, no doubt; only the truth is--" his lashes drooped slightly to veil his eyes, "I like a bit of gossip myself occasionally!"
"We were talking about your friendly set-to with John Steele," said Captain Forsythe bluntly.
The nobleman's long fingers lifted, pulled at his mustache; in the bright glare, his nails, perfectly kept, looked sharp and pointed. "Ah, indeed!" he remarked. "Steele is handy with the foils; an all-round sportsman, I fancy; or once was!" softly.
"Never heard of him, though, in the amateur sporting world!" observed the lady. "Never saw his name mentioned in any gentlemen's events--tennis or golf tournaments, track athletics, rowing, and all that."
"No?" Lord Ronsdale gazed down; half-sitting on the corner of the table, he swung one glossy shoe to and fro.
"Perhaps he's hiding his light under a bushel?" said the lady.
The nobleman made a sound. "Perhaps!"
"I was asking Captain Forsythe about his antecedents. No one here seems to know. Possibly you can enlighten us."