"Pshaw!" exclaimed Fulmer, sharply. "I wish to Heaven you would be serious but for a moment."
"I am perfectly serious," replied Hungerford. "The only question is, which is the best philosophy, yours or mine? However, each man knows his own nature. What do you wish to ask me?"
"Simply this," answered Fulmer. "What is the previous acquaintance to which you alluded with a sneer, this morning, between my contracted wife, the Lady Iola St. Leger, and that very noble and excellent gentleman, the Lord Chartley?"
"With a sneer, my dear lord!" exclaimed Hungerford. "See what it is to be of an imaginative disposition. I sneered not at all."
"Then the simple question," rejoined Fulmer, restraining his feelings with a great effort, "what know you of their acquaintance?"
"Mighty little, my good lord," replied Sir Edward Hungerford, who was, to say the truth, a little amused by the eager impetuosity of his companion, and somewhat inclined to spur him on, merely for the joke's sake; but, knowing that the affair might have very serious consequences, he kept to the strict truth, and even within it, though he could not refrain from playing a little with Fulmer's impatience. "Be it known unto you then," he continued, "that somewhere about a fortnight ago--let me see. It was on Monday----"
"The date matters little," said Fulmer, moodily. "All I want are the facts."
"Well, about a fortnight ago, then," continued Hungerford, "as I was riding from London, I chanced to stumble upon my good friend Lord Chartley, at the little inn at Kimbolton. The whole place was occupied by himself and his people; but he kindly made room for me, and gave me an excellent good supper, prepared by his own cook. The snipes were excellent; and there was an alaud of salmon, I never tasted anything better--"
"Well, well, what then?" said Fulmer, quickly.
"Why, I thought him too good a companion to be parted with easily," said Hungerford. "So we passed the evening in talking of Bohemia, where we had last met, and drawing savoury comparisons between the cookery of that rude land and good old England. Finding we were travelling the same way, I joined myself to his train, which was discreet and well ordered, having a friar to bless the meat, and a cook to cook it. Good faith, it was a pleasant journey; and I put myself in mind of the gentleman who gave crumbs to Lazarus; for I took care to be dressed in purple and fine linen, and with him I fared sumptuously every day. At length, one evening, after having dallied away some time at Tamworth, we stopped to sup at the abbey of St. Clare--an abbey of nuns, you know--"