Mr. Waddington snorted.
"Nerve," he said, "in its proper place and when there's not too much of it, I admire. But when a woman has the crust to disparage the morals of one of the finest young fellows who ever came out of the golden West and then I happen to pop into New York on important business and find her closeted with a man with a tooth-brush moustache and she has the audacity to say she can explain everything...."
Here Mr. Waddington paused to take in breath.
"Sigsbee!"
"It's living in this soul-destroying East that does it," proceeded Mr. Waddington, having re-filled his thoracic cavities. "If I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times, that...."
"But, Sigsbee, I couldn't help it. It's quite true what Lord Hunstanton was saying. A policeman locked us in."
"What were you doing up here, anyway?"
There was a brief silence within.
"I came to see what that Finch was doing. And I heard him in here, talking to an abandoned creature."
Mr. Waddington directed a questioning gaze at George.