"I won't ask you why you deceived me, Lilian, but it was a low down trick to play on me, and it has turned out to be a damned cruel trick to play on that girl. I mentioned the engagement as a mere matter of course to somebody, and though I mentioned it confidentially, it started this slander about Malcolm Cromarty and Cicely Farmond conspiring to murder—to murder, Lilian!—the man of all men they owed most to. That's what you've done!"
By this time Lilian Cromarty's handkerchief was at her eyes.
"I—I am very sorry, Ned," she murmured.
But he was not to be soothed by a tear, even in the most adroit lady's eye.
"The latest consequence has been," he said sternly, "that through a mixture of persecution and bad advice she has been driven to run away. Luckily I spotted her at the start and fetched her back, and I've told her that if there is the least little bit more trouble she is to come straight here and that you will give her as good a welcome as I shall. Is that quite clear?"
"Yes," she murmured through her handkerchief.
"Otherwise," said he, "there's no room for us both here. One single suggestion that she isn't welcome—and you have full warning now of the consequences!"
"When is she coming?" she asked in an uncertain voice.
"When? Possibly never. But there's some very fishy—and it looks to me, some very dirty business going on, and this port stands open in case of a storm. You fully understand?"