"We've p-parted," said Penelope. "He came and said he'd told, and I was very f-furious, and we had a r-row. And he was so cross and mad, because without me he couldn't prove it. For we were married in other names, and I wrote my name in another handwriting, and I said I would deny it. And he flew into a passion and into a motor-car and went away. And I've only my p-pride and b-baby left. And I'm so sorry for every one. And how did you find me?"
Bob told her how he had done it, and told her of Bradstock's advertisement, and told her about the bishop, and more about Mr. Bunting of All Saints, Oxford, who was the strongest man he had ever seen. Carteret Williams was nothing in his hands.
"And now I've told you everything, won't you tell me who it is?"
"No," said poor Penelope; "it would humiliate me to tell now, and I won't."
"But they must know here," said Bob.
"Only three," replied Penelope. "Miss Mackarness and Geordie Smith and Timothy. And Timothy was so unhappy when he heard he had married me that I sent him away to Upwell, where there are more horses. But he's back now. And Miss Mackarness and Geordie Smith have sworn not to tell. And I expect you not to ask them."
Bob snorted a little at this.
"Oh, all right, but I shall have to say where you are when I go back to Spilsborough."
"Oh, you won't," said Pen.
"I must," said Bob. "Bradstock is terribly worried about it now, and thinks you've treated him badly, and the bishop is very curious, and he asks questions in a way that it's difficult not to answer somehow. And besides there's granny and all the rest. I say, do you know Gordon has been speculating for me, and has made seventy thousand pounds for me?"