in conversation with the writer the other day, Archibald mentioned, quite incidentally, some very startling facts. Those concern you, Mr. Carter.'
'May I ask the name of the writer?'
'I do not think that is necessary,' said she. 'She is a lady in whom I have the utmost confidence.'
'That is, of course, enough,' said I.
'It appears, Mr. Carter, and you will excuse me if I speak plainly' (I set my teeth) 'that you have, in the first place, given to my son's bride a wedding present, which I can only describe as'
'A pearl ornament,' I interposed; 'with a ruby or two, and'
'A pearl heart,' she corrected; 'er—fractured, and that you explained that this absurd article represented your heart.'
'Mere badinage,' said I.
'In execrably bad taste,' said she.
I bowed.
'In fact, most offensive. But that is not the worst. From my son's further statements it appears that on one occasion, at least, he found you and Miss Foster engaged in what I can only call'
I raised my hand in protest. The Countess took no notice.
'What I can only call romping.'
She shot this word at me with extraordinary violence, and when it was out she shuddered.
'Romping!' I cried.
