"How much do you know, Yolande?" I asked.
"I heard yesterday that she'd run away," was the answer. "I wasn't told who with.... I can't say I was surprised."
At luncheon the name was supplied, unsupported by details, however. I was sitting next to Lady Pentyre, who welcomed me with even greater fervour than our old friendship warranted.
"I've been longing to see you!" she began eagerly. "You know Mrs. O'Rane, don't you? And you know Colonel Grayle. Well, is it true ...?"
"Is what true?" I asked, as she paused delicately.
Her full question was inaudible, but I caught the words "chère amie."
"Ask someone who knows them better," I suggested. "I've hardly seen either for months."
There was less delicacy about Pebbleridge, when I dined with him; less still about Frank Jellaby, when I met him at the Club. To the party organiser moral depravity is of interest only in so far as it contributes to damage a hostile cause.
"Grayle's hardly chosen a fortunate moment for the double event," he observed gleefully.
I made it a rule in these days never to admit knowledge of the facts until I had discovered how much my antagonist knew. The House of Commons on this occasion was better informed than Pont Street, the County Club or Eaton Place.