“Why? What made you think that?”
“I fancied so,” he said, continuing to puff at his great pipe. “I fancied, too, that she had a lover—a young lover—who is a lieutenant in a cavalry regiment.”
“How did you know?”
“Merely from my own observations. It was all plain last night.”
“How?”
But he grinned at me through his great ugly spectacles without replying. I knew that he was a marvellously acute observer.
“And your opinion of her ladyship?” I inquired, much interested.
“She, like her charming cousin, is concealing the truth,” he answered frankly. “Neither are to be trusted.”
“Not Beryl—I mean Miss Wynd?”
“No; for she knows who her visitor was, and will not tell us.”