“Battle’s a good man,” agreed Anthony.
“You ought to have been in diplomacy,” remarked Bundle. “You don’t part with much information, do you?”
“I was under the impression that I babbled.”
“Oh! Boy! You’re not eloping with Mademoiselle Brun, by any chance?”
“Not guilty!” said Anthony with fervour.
There was a pause of some minutes during which Bundle caught up and passed three other cars. Then she asked suddenly:
“How long have you known Virginia?”
“That’s a difficult question to answer,” said Anthony, with perfect truth. “I haven’t actually met her very often, and yet I seem to have known her a long time.”
Bundle nodded.
“Virginia’s got brains,” she remarked abruptly. “She’s always talking nonsense, but she’s got brains all right. She was frightfully good out in Herzoslovakia, I believe. If Tim Revel had lived he’d have had a fine career—and mostly owing to Virginia. She worked for him tooth and nail. She did everything in the world she could for him—and I know why, too.”
“Because she cared for him?” Anthony sat looking very straight ahead of him.
“No, because she didn’t. Don’t you see? She didn’t love him—she never loved him, and so she did everything on earth she could to make up. That’s Virginia all over. But don’t you make any mistake about it. Virginia was never in love with Tim Revel.”
“You seem very positive,” said Anthony, turning to look at her.
Bundle’s little hands were clenched on the steering wheel, and her chin was stuck out in a determined manner.
“I know a thing or two. I was only a kid at the time of her marriage, but I heard one or two things, and knowing Virginia I can put them together easily enough. Tim Revel was bowled over by Virginia—he was Irish, you know, and most attractive, with a genius for expressing himself well. Virginia was quite young—eighteen. She couldn’t go anywhere without seeing Tim in a state of picturesque misery, vowing he’d shoot himself or take to drink if she didn’t marry him. Girls believe these things—or used to—we’ve advanced a lot in the
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