Nellie had learned the facts from one of her "nice boys," a "sub" who had taken over Vincent's sayce after the smash, and was still too young to know when to hold his tongue. The sayce let out that Vincent Sahib had bribed him to drug the racehorse.
"And so, you see," said Nellie to me, "poor Ian was a hero after all. It was for my sake, you know, that he wouldn't speak."
I said something appropriate.
"Nonsense!" said Nellie, with a blush. "Please ask them to call my carriage; I want to go home. And you might come to-morrow and talk things over with me—and—and—book a passage to Lisbon by the next mail—you'll want it."
"Well, I'm—astonished," said I; but I wasn't.
"My dear fellow," said Farquhar to me, when I visited him again in his Cintra hut, "I don't want to be rude to you, but I'd much rather you let me alone. I've broken with the old life, you see, and you must allow that you are out of place in the new one. You'll pardon my speaking so plainly."
"'BOOK A PASSAGE TO LISBON BY THE NEXT MAIL.
YOU'LL WANT IT,' SHE SAID."