“Still, one ought to know who started it, because, personally, I don’t believe a word of it. Preston is not a man to talk indiscreetly, especially about a woman.”
The other shrugged his shoulders.
“I give it, of course, merely for what it is worth,” he said. “I don’t vouch for the accuracy of everything I hear.”
“Then why repeat it as if it were solemn truth? I’d be more careful if I were you, Appleton,” Blenkiron went on. “There’s a thing called the law of slander.”
Appleton stared.
“If Preston is a friend of yours,” he stammered, “I suppose I ought to apologize.”
“I think so too,” Blenkiron answered.
But in spite of his endeavor during the day to find who had first started the story, he failed to get any information. Many of his acquaintances had heard the rumor, but none could remember where.
Yet one person could have enlightened him. Jessica, scheming to destroy the happiness of those she knew to be striving to discover the secret of her past life, had now no scruple as to what methods she might employ to achieve her end. And for some weeks events had been occurring which, she now realized, threatened to jeopardize her position in Society, and indeed her own safety and that of her faithful companions.
“Louie,” she said to Stapleton—they were at déjeuner with La Planta on the terrace of the Royal Hotel at Dieppe, “don’t you think it time we put a check to the activities of Cora Hartsilver and her energetic admirers? I am growing tired of being harassed by their over-persistency. If our plan fails with Preston and Yootha Hagerston regarding her, I suggest that more repressive measures be resorted to at once. And I don’t mind admitting now, that I believe Charles Preston is going to prove too much for us.”