'Why, of Charley Crispin, G———' And Lionel Berrington accompanied this name with a startling imprecation.
'What has he to do———?'
'He has everything to do. Isn't he with her there?'
'How should I know? You said Lady Ringrose.'
'Lady Ringrose is a mere blind—and a devilish poor one at that. I'm sorry to have to say it to you, but he's her lover. I mean Selina's. And he ain't the first.'
There was another short silence while they stood opposed, and then Laura asked—and the question was unexpected—'Why do you call him Charley?'
'Doesn't he call me Lion, like all the rest?' said her brother-in-law, staring.
'You're the most extraordinary people. I suppose you have a certain amount of proof before you say such things to me?'
'Proof, I've oceans of proof! And not only about Crispin, but about Deepmere.'
'And pray who is Deepmere?'
'Did you never hear of Lord Deepmere? He has gone to India. That was before you came. I don't say all this for my pleasure, Laura,' Mr. Berrington added.
'Don't you, indeed?' asked the girl with a singular laugh. 'I thought you were so glad.'
'I'm glad to know it but I'm not glad to tell it. When I say I'm glad to know it I mean I'm glad to be fixed at last. Oh, I've got the tip! It's all open country now and I know just how to go. I've
