"Forgive me if I seem intrusive, Theo," he began, "but I am afraid there is more to be said. This afternoon Olliver spoke to me——"
Desmond swung round again, with blazing eyes.
"What the hell has Olliver got to do with my wife? I have never interfered with his."
Paul Wyndham looked very steadily into the disturbed face of his friend. Then he brought his hand down on the green baize of the table before him.
"Theo—my dear fellow," he said, "it is hard enough for me, in any case, to say what I must. Is it quite generous of you to make it harder?"
The fire died slowly out of Desmond's eyes, giving place to a look of stubborn resignation.
"Forgive me, Paul. Sorry I lost my temper. Let me have the bare facts, please. Though I probably know them already."
And he returned to his former attitude, the fingers of his left hand caressing mechanically the stem of a tall vase.
His last remark made Paul watch him anxiously. He was wondering whether Theo's determination to shield his wife would possibly goad him into a direct lie; and he devoutly hoped not.
"Well," he began at length, "Olliver spoke to me because there seems to be rather a strong feeling in the Regiment about Mrs Desmond and—Kresney being so constantly together again just now——"