“Yes,” I replied; adding, “she wanted to speak to me about Dora.”
“Ah! poor Dora!” Fyneshade exclaimed rather sadly. “Most lamentable affair that engagement of hers. She’s a charming girl, but I’m afraid the course of true love will not run very smoothly for her!”
“Why?”
“Well, Bethune is hardly the man one would wish for a husband for one’s daughter,” he answered. “There are ugly rumours afloat regarding his sudden disappearance.”
“But he has now returned to face his traducers,” I answered hastily.
“Yes, yes, I know. But does not his uneasiness strike you as—well, at least as curious?”
His words were an admission that he suspected Jack. Had Mabel, I wondered, told him of her suspicions?
“I really don’t know,” I said, with affected indifference. He smiled rather incredulously, I thought, and lowering his voice, evidently fearing that he might be overheard, he inquired—
“There is a question I want to ask you, Stuart. Are you acquainted with a man named Markwick?”
“He is not an acquaintance of mine,” I answered promptly, determined to show no sign of surprise. “I have seen him at Thackwell’s, but have only spoken to him twice.”