"Vexed!" said Mr. Marischal, "not in the least." But for a moment or two he said no more, and even pretty, spoilt Mrs. Snowdon looked a little uneasy.
"You shouldn't have persisted, Nina," she whispered.
Mr. Marischal must have had unusually quick ears. He looked up and smiled.
"I really don't mind telling you all there is to hear," he said. "At one time I had a sort of dislike to mentioning the story, for the sake of others. The details would have led to its being recognised—and it might have been painful. But there is no one now living to whom it would matter—you know," he added, turning to his sister; "her husband is dead too."
Lady Denholme shook her head.
"No," she said, "I did not hear."
"Yes," said her brother, "I saw his death in the papers last year. He had married again, I believe. There is not now, therefore, any reason why I should not tell the story, if it will interest you," he went on, turning to the others. "And there is not very much to tell. Not worth making such a preamble about. It was—let me see—yes, it must be nearly fifteen years ago."
"Wait a moment, Uncle Paul," said Nina. "Yes, that's all right, Gladys. You and I will hold each other's hands, and pinch hard if we get very frightened."
"Thank you," Miss Lloyd replied. "On the whole I should prefer for you not to hold my hand."
"But I won't pinch you so as to hurt," said Nina reassuringly; "and it isn't as if we were in the dark."