THE TOUCHSTONE
"Perhaps he counted on the public to save him the trouble of reading them," said young Hartly, who was in the cynical stage.
Mrs. Armiger turned her reproachful loveliness to Dresham. "From the way you defend him I believe you know who he is."
Every one looked at Dresham, and his wife smiled with the superior air of the woman who is in her husband's professional secrets. Dresham shrugged his shoulders.
"What have I said to defend him?"
"You called him a poor devil—you pitied him."
"A man who could let Margaret Aubyn write to him in that way? Of course I pity him."
"Then you must know who he is," cried Mrs. Armiger with a triumphant air of penetration.
Hartly and Flamel laughed and Dresham shook his head. "No one knows; not even the publishers; so they tell me at least."
"So they tell you to tell us," Hartly astutely amended; and Mrs. Armiger added, with the appearance of carrying the argument a point farther,
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