“What? Speak out.”
“That she is madly taken with our handsome young artist.”
“They say that?”
“Yes, and I gave them the lie. Last night I had it, though more definitely. I was at the Van Hagues—all artistic London goes there, and a spiteful, vindictive woman contrived, by hints and innuendoes, as she knew I was your friend, to let me know the state of affairs.”
“Lady Grayson?”
“The same.”
“The Jezebel!”
“And worse, lad. But, Armstrong, my lad—I have come then too late?”
Pride and resentment kept Dale silent for a few moments, and then he said huskily—
“It is false.”