He rose, indignant. "I am deeply shocked. Profoundly surprised. I shall make a point of informing Madame Lachesnais and his lordship."
Jack leapt to his feet. "Oh, I say, you can't, you know!" he protested, "because we took you into our confidence!"
The antiquary was as nearly angry as he had ever been in his life. "I did not ask for your confidence!" he exclaimed.
"Well—you've got it!" said Jack, conclusively.
Marjolaine laid her hand on the Doctor's arm and looked up at him with great pathetic eyes—the stricken deer. "And, Doctor, dear—think of when you were young!"
"Eh?" said the Doctor, startled. "How did you know?—And if I did run away with my blessed Araminta—"
"Ah!—there, you see!" cried Jack, delighted.
"—I had every excuse," protested the Doctor. "My blessed Araminta was deeply interested in flint arrowheads."
"And I 'm sure you were very, very happy," said Marjolaine, laying her hand on his shoulder.
The Doctor looked at her. The Doctor dug his snuff-box out of a remote waistcoat-pocket. The Doctor took snuff. The Doctor drew out a great, brown handkerchief. The Doctor blew his nose. His snuff was very strong, and had made his eyes water. Finally he said, "Ah, my child, she has been dead thirty years!"