‘No,’ returned Harry. ‘Oh yes, by the way, I did though: twice, and got caught out both times. But I thought I should find my—my wife here?’ he added, with a kind of proud confusion.
‘What? are you married?’ cried Somerset.
‘Oh yes,’ said Harry, ‘quite a long time: a month at least.’
‘Money?’ asked Challoner.
‘That’s the worst of it,’ Desborough admitted. ‘We are deadly hard up. But the Pri--- Mr. Godall is going to do something for us. That is what brings us here.’
‘Who was Mrs. Desborough?’ said Challoner, in the tone of a man of society.
‘She was a Miss Luxmore,’ returned Harry. ‘You fellows will be sure to like her, for she is much cleverer than I. She tells wonderful stories, too; better than a book.’
And just then the door opened, and Mrs. Desborough entered. Somerset cried out aloud to recognise the young lady of the Superfluous Mansion, and Challoner fell back a step and dropped his cigar as he beheld the sorceress of Chelsea.
‘What!’ cried Harry, ‘do you both know my wife?’
‘I believe I have seen her,’ said Somerset, a little wildly.