The colour rushed to his face, but he fought on.
"There is something which I think you ought to know about him."
"What do you mean?"
She spoke sharply, but not quite so sharply as he had expected.
"Miss Strife—it's very difficult for me ... but I think I ought——"
"I suppose," she said, her voice faltering a little, "you're trying to tell me—you think you ought to tell me—that Quentin hasn't always been quite—quite worthy of himself. I know."
"You know!"
"Yes."
There was silence, broken only by the swish of their footsteps through the grass.
"How did you know?—Who told you?" cried Furlonger suddenly.