"What was there to see, Barry?" Owen's voice was quiet—dangerously quiet. "Is there anything wrong with Vivian? Is she—has she been ill?"
"No."
"Then ... God! man, what are you trying to tell me?" His forced calm was breaking up. "Out with it—whatever it is. Is Vivian—is she dead?"
"No—oh, no." He spoke hurriedly, thankful that he could at least answer that question in the negative.
"Then ... what is it? Come, Barry"—Owen spoke through his teeth in a hoarse tone quite unlike his usual voice—"if Vivian is not dead, not ill ... what is this wonderful piece of news I might have read in the papers—and did not?"
There was a moment's tense silence, broken only by the crackling of the gay little fire on the hearth.
Then Barry said heavily:
"Miss Rees was married to Lord Saxonby this morning."