“Yes,” I said, “and followed her into the station with it, where she gave him a sixpence, and he called her a pretty lady.”
My father looked thoughtfully at the tips of his fingers.
“From which I infer,” he said, “that he could probably identify her.”
Mr. Lorton passed one of his hands over the pale green surface of his cheek.
“But, my dear sir,” he said, “my dear sir, even suppose, I say, that without—er—prejudice, Mrs. Chrysostom had so far honoured me as to accompany me for a walk in the park you mention, surely that is not necessarily an indiscreet act in view of the fact that I am her husband’s brother.”
Again my father smiled.
“But a brother, you must remember, whose testimonial would be worse than useless.”
For a moment Mr. Lorton glanced from side to side with the bestial expression of a hunted rat. Then he spoke huskily, after licking his lips again and listening for a second or two over his left shoulder.
“Perhaps I was rather hasty,” he said, “rather hasty. In fact I had—er—already begun to reconsider that.”
“I am happy to hear it,” said my father.