"He said she'd not made at all a good recovery; after leavin' Easedale she'd to go to a nursing home in town, and from there she sent him down a cross and candlesticks for the prison chapel. Scott was quite set up about it, he's a ritualistic little chap; and I suppose they were handsome enough if you like such things, I don't—"
"My good Denis, what have I to do with crosses and candlesticks? Did he say she said anything about me?"
"He did," said Denis, more unwillingly than ever. "He said she asked for your address."
"Oh, confound—! Did he give it?"
"He had to. He said it was no use refusin', as she'd easily have got it out of any one else."
"He said that, did he? Confound him too! I seem to have left several loose ends over this affair. Was that all he told you?"
"Yes. After she wrote with the things he heard no more."
"I wonder why she wanted my address," said Gardiner, frowning. "Well, I suppose it must be all right—after all this time."
He pulled at his pipe in silence. Happening to glance at Denis, he surprised that look of distaste and repugnance which he had never seen on his friend's face before Easedale. Gardiner was not fond of owning himself in the wrong; few men are, and he less than most. But he spoke out now on impulse.