He throws himself into a chair, and looks at her curiously. "What was the row with Athelstone?—you haven't told me." Lauraine grows very white.
"He is going abroad—away for years. His engagement is all over. He came to say good-bye."
Sir Francis gives a long whistle.
"Nom de Dieu? Is that so? And have you had a hand in breaking it off, my lady?"
"What do you mean?" she asks, looking at him with grave surprise.
"Mean? Oh, you and Keith were such chums always. I thought he had done it because you—objected. I know you never liked the marriage."
"It had nothing to do with me," says Lauraine coldly. "And the girl was very fond of him. I am sorry for her."
"It strikes me that Jean wasn't so far out, after all," says Sir Francis, with a harsh laugh. "You and Keith do seem to have a remarkably good understanding with each other."
Lauraine looks at him, her eyes dark with anger. "Since when have you taken to speak so familiarly of Lady Jean Salomans?" she asks; "and by what right does she discuss my actions with you?"
"Come, that won't do," says her husband, throwing himself back in his chair, and looking at her defiantly. "It's rather too like the proverb of the pot and the kettle. You discuss me with Keith Athelstone, I have no doubt, and—other things too."