"Some far higher up in the world than Captain Cavendish have stooped to fall in love and marry girls as poor as Cherrie. You never could, I suppose?"
"Never! The idea is absurd! I wouldn't marry a girl like Cherrie if she had the beauty of the Venus de Medicis!"
"Did you ever undeceive Cherrie about that marriage affair? Did you let her know she was not your wife?"
"Not I," said Captain Cavendish, coolly. "I never took so much trouble about her! I was heartily sick of her before a week!"
"Well, it seems hard," said Val. "Poor little thing! She was very fond of you, too."
"Stuff! She was as fond of me as she was, or would be, of any other decently good-looking man. She was ready to rum off with any one who asked her, whether it were I, or young Marsh, or any of the rest. I know what Cherrie was made of."
"And so she thinks she is still your wife?"
"I don't know what she thinks!" exclaimed the young officer, impatiently; "and what's more, I don't care! What do you talk to me of Cherrie Nettleby for? I tell you I know nothing about her!"
"And I tell you I don't believe it," said Val. "You have her hid away somewhere, Cavendish; and if you are an honorable man, you will tell her the truth, and provide for her before you leave Speckport."
Captain Cavendish might have flown into a rage with any other man, but he only burst into a loud laugh at Val.