“William. He—he’s married!”
There was a little silence and then the colonel laughed dryly.
“Was that what ailed you? On my word, Carter, I began to think you’d got creeping paralysis of the brain. Who’s he married?”
“I don’t know.”
“What!”
“No, I don’t! It’s some French girl—Fanchon—there, I can’t remember! We just heard this morning. The—the young donkey hasn’t known her three months.”
Colonel Denbigh broke off a twig and began to whittle it.
“Case of love at first sight, I presume,” he commented calmly. “I wouldn’t take it so hard, Carter, you may like her.”
Mr. Carter made an inarticulate sound which ended in his throat. His eyes avoided the colonel’s.
“Mrs. Carter’s all broken up,” he said hoarsely. “It’s a shock. Of course we don’t know anything. But—that is—I—I’m afraid, William’s behaved badly. Virginia, you know?”