As a partial explanation of his somewhat eccentric behavior, he volunteered a lively account of a recent cause celebre, in which he had taken a part, but the details of which had been rigidly kept from the public. He more than hinted that Mr. Sydney Corbett had figured prominently in the affair; and Mrs. Hillmer laughed with unrestrained mirth at the unwonted appearance of her brother in the character of a Lothario.
“Tell me,” said Bruce confidentially, when a couple of glasses of Moët ’89 had consolidated friendly relations, “what sort of a fellow is this brother of yours?”
“Not in any sense a bad boy, but a trifle wild. He will not live an ordinary life, and at times he has been hard pressed to live at all. As a matter of fact, it is this scrape he blundered into with Messrs. Dodge & Co. that induced him to masquerade temporarily under an assumed name.”
“Then what is his real name?”
“Ah, now you are pumping me again. I refuse to tell.”
“But there are generally serious reasons when a man disguises himself in such fashion.”
“The reason he gave me was that he dreaded being writted for liability regarding the shares I mentioned to you. It was good enough. Now you come with this story of meddling with somebody else’s wife. Surely this is an additional reason. I supplied him with funds until we quarrelled, and then he went off in a huff.”
“What did you quarrel about?”
“That concerns me only.” Mrs. Hillmer was so emphatic that Bruce dropped the subject.