"Nothing serious, I hope. Come in here a minute." And he led the way into his own Spartan-looking room.
"Now let me hear it," he said quietly.
But Olliver balanced himself on the edge of the table, tapped his pipe against it, and loosened the contents scientifically with his penknife before complying with the request.
"The truth is," he began at length, "that it's about Mrs Desmond and that confounded cad Kresney."
"Ah!" The note of pain in Wyndham's voice made the other look at him questioningly.
"You've noticed it, then?"
"Well,—it was rather marked while Desmond was away. Nothing to trouble about, though, if it had been any other man than Kresney."
Olliver brought his fist down on the table.
"That's precisely what my wife says. You know what a lot she thinks of Desmond; and I believe she's capable of tackling the little woman herself, which I couldn't stand at any price. That's why I promised to speak to you to-day. Hope it doesn't seem infernal cheek on my part."