“Well, I have some news for you, Lavender,” Ingram said.
“Do you know where she is?” said the other eagerly.
“Yes.”
“Where?” he almost called aloud in his anxiety.
“Well,” Ingram said slowly, “she is in London, and she is very well; and you need have no anxiety about her.”
“But where is she?” demanded Lavender, taking no heed of the waiter, who was standing by and uncorking a bottle.
“I promised her not to tell you.”
“You have spoken with her, then?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say? Where has she been? Good Heavens, Ingram! you don’t mean to say you are going to keep it a secret?”