“Certainly,” said Hugh.
Cahusac, who had been ascending the scale of mystification, rose from his chair.
“You are three astounding people—the world won’t stand that, you know—it’s almost too much for me, and I’m not squeamish. No. Hang it all—The mari complaisant—and Merriam is the last man in the world—it beats me altogether. Look here, I’ll come back another time. I must digest this first!” The cleanly Briton in him was disgusted. Polyandry in Terra del Fuego is ethnologically interesting. In England it wears a different aspect.
Hugh broke into a half laugh, and, striding forward, seized Cahusac by the shoulder and swung him round.
“You silly fool,” he cried. “Do you suppose I’m the man to let you talk like this about my private affairs, if things were as you think? Has it never entered your head that the story was a lie from beginning to end? That Mrs. Merriam is the purest of women and the most spotless of wives? That it was the desperate stroke of two heroic friends to save a man’s life?”
The journalist’s rosy face expressed blank astonishment. He sank upon a chair and muttered incoherent wonder and apology.
“You are more astounding than ever!” he exclaimed at last. “Of course I was taken in, like the judge, jury, press, public, everybody—I’m heartily thankful.”
Suddenly he grew very grave.
“Are you aware that you have committed a blazing indiscretion?”
“In telling you?”