Chris flushed and his eyes wavered.
"A damnable incident happened when we were down there—Miss Webber . . ." He could not go on.
Feathers nodded.
"I know. Don't trouble to explain. I could see it in Scotland. She thinks she is in love with you—is that it? and told you so? Mrs. Heriot overheard, or saw, and told . . . your wife . . . Go on."
Chris looked relieved.
"That's it, more or less. I swear to you that there was nothing in it on my side at all! I've never given the girl a thought, beyond to play golf with her; you know that!"
"Yes, go on!" There was a long silence.
"Marie won't believe me——" Chris said then brokenly. "She won't even let me explain. Miss Webber's brother died unexpectedly, and I took her back home. I only went because Marie and Aunt Madge both seemed to think I ought to. I never spoke a dozen words to the wretched girl the whole way; I didn't want to go with her. I stayed at an inn in Chester that night—her home is in Chester—and came back as soon as I could the next morning, and this is what I got! . . ." He dropped back into his chair despairingly. "She's done with me," he said hoarsely.
Feathers stared at his friend with strained eyes, and after a moment Chris started up once more.
"I'll kill that Heriot woman if I ever see her again," he broke out passionately. "I loathe women! They're cruel devils to each other! Why did she want to go and hurt Marie Celeste like that? We were getting on better together—things would have been all right, and then that hell-cat must needs come in and ruin everything . . ." His voice was choked and broken.