“I can, and I have; at least, I tried it. But it was not easy. She’s been rather queer to me lately. She would volunteer no information, and of course—you see—I didn’t want to seem interested on the subject. It’s only just lately, since I came here in fact, that I’ve really owned it to myself,” and his face flushed. “I went yachting and fishing to put it out of my head, but—it’s been no use—I won’t laugh at all that sort of thing again as I have done, I can tell you.”
“He’s very much in earnest,” thought Mrs Selby.
“What—you don’t mind telling me—what is her name?” she asked.
“Ford—Miss Ford. I fancy her first name is Mary. There’s a pet name they call her by,” but he did not tell it.
“Mary Ford—that does not sound aristocratic,” mused Mrs Selby. “Despard, tell me—Mrs Englewood is really fond of you. Do you think she knows anything against the girl, or her family, or anything like that, and that she was afraid of it for you?”
“Oh, dear no! Quite the contrary, Mai—Miss Ford is a great pet of hers. Gertrude was angry with me for not being civil to her,” and he laughed.
“Not being civil to her,” she repeated. “And you were falling in love with her? How do you mean?”
“That was afterwards. I was brutally uncivil to her at first. That’s how it began somehow,” he said, disconnectedly.
Mrs Selby felt utterly perplexed. Was he being taken in by a designing girl? It all sounded very inconsistent.
“Despard,” she said after a little silence, “shall I try to find out all about her from Mrs Englewood? She would not refuse any information if it was for your sake.”