“Deganway? You mustn’t take all he says too literally,” interposed Eric.
Madame Pinto’s voice was more penetrating than she knew; and he could see that Barbara was sitting inattentive to her neighbours.
“He said that she had broken all your hearts, one after another... I am not surprised.”
“You must be careful,” Eric whispered in agony. “She’ll hear.”
Barbara had already heard and was pretending that she had not, galvanizing herself to an interest in her neighbour. Madame Pinto looked down the table and saw her preoccupied.
“Ah, you are one of all those relations! I am sorry, Mr. ——?”
“An old friend,” Eric answered brusquely.
Perhaps it was feminine curiosity, perhaps Madame Pinto felt subconsciously that she was being headed off something of interest, perhaps she had a perverse talent for the mal à propos. Certainly it seemed as though nothing would satisfy her until she had plumbed the bottomless pool of gossip in which Deganway had submerged Barbara; and for the hundredth time Eric wished that some one would thrash Deganway or cut his tongue out.
“I hear you’re taking a house in London,” he began hurriedly.
Madame Pinto was not to be so easily diverted from her quest.