Jerry remained silent.
"Don't you think it's rather funny that we none of us know anything about him?—I mean beyond the mere fact that his name is Errington and that he's a well-known playwright."
"Why do you want to know more?" growled Jerry.
"Well, I think there is something behind, something odd about him.
Olga Lermontof is always hinting that there is."
"Look here, Diana," said Jerry, getting rather red. "Don't let's talk about Errington. You know we always get shirty with each other when we do. I'm not going to pry into his private concerns—and as for Miss Lermontof, she's the type of woman who simply revels in making mischief."
"But it is funny Mr. Errington should be so—so reserved about himself," persisted Diana. "Hasn't he ever told you anything?"
"No, he has not," replied Jerry curtly. "Nor should I ever ask him to.
I'm quite content to take him as I find him."
"All the same, I believe Miss Lermontof knows something about him—something not quite to his credit."
"I swear she doesn't," burst out Jerry violently. "Just because he doesn't choose to blab out all his private affairs to the world at large, that black-browed female Tartar must needs imagine he has something to conceal. It's damnable! I'd stake my life Errington's as straight as a die—and always has been."
"You're a good friend, Jerry," said Diana, rather wistfully.