Mr. Raymond shrugged his shoulders, as if he would have said, "All further argument is useless; this demented creature must go to perdition his own way."
"You are a very obstinate young man, Roland," he said aloud; "and I am very sorry you ever made the acquaintance of this Doctor's Wife, than whom there are scores of prettier women to be met with in any summer-day's walk; but I dare say there were prettier women than Helen, if it comes to that. However, as you insist upon hearing the whole of this village scandal—which may or may not be true—you must have your own way; and I hope, when you have heard it, you will be contented to turn your back for some time to come upon Midlandshire and Mrs. George Gilbert. I have heard something of the story Lady Gwendoline told you at dinner; and from a tolerably reliable source. I have heard——"
"What? That she—that Isabel has been seen with some stranger?"
"Yes."
"With whom? when? where?"
"There is a strange man staying at a little rustic tavern in Nessborough Hollow. You know what gossips these country people are; Heaven knows I have never put myself out of the way to learn other people's business; but these things get bruited about in all manner of places."
Roland chafed impatiently during this brief digression.
"Tell your story plainly, Raymond," he said. "There is a strange man staying in Nessborough Hollow—well; what then?"
"He is rather a handsome-looking fellow; flashily dressed—a Londoner, evidently—and——"
"But what has all this to do with Mrs. Gilbert?"