ins, told Madame
Bellevue's maid, from whom it came straight to Lord Pam's fellow and
through him to old Methuselah, who mentioned it to----"

"You needn't finish tracing the lineage of the misinformation. We'll
assume it began with Adam and ended with a dam--with a descendant of his,"
interrupted Craven with his usual insolence. "Now out with the lie!"

"'Pon honour, Craven, 'tis gospel truth," gasped Pink-and-White.

"Better send for a doctor then. If he tries to tell the truth for once
he'll strangle," suggested Selwyn whimsically to March.

"Spit it out then!" bullied Craven coarsely.

"Oh, Lard! Your roughness gives me the flutters, Sir James. I'm all of a
tremble. Split me, I can't abide to be scolded! Er-- Well, then, 'twas a
Welsh widow they fought about--name of Gwynne and rich as Croesus--old
enough to be a grandmother of either of 'em, begad! Volney had first claim
and Montagu cut in; swore he'd marry her if she went off the hooks next
minute. They fought and Montagu fell at the first shot. Next day the old
Begum ran off with her footman. That's the story, you may depend on't.
Lud, yes!"

"You may depend on its being wrong in every particular," agreed Lady Di
coolly. "You'd better tell the story, 'Toinette. They'll have it a hundred
times worse."

"Oh Lard! Gossip about my future husband. Not I!" giggled that lively
young woman.

"Don't be a prude, miss!" commanded the Dowager Countess sharply. "'Tis to
stifle false reports you tell it."

"Slidikins! An you put it as a duty," simpered the young beauty. "'Twould
seem that--it would appear--the story goes that-- Do I blush?--that Sir
Robert-- Oh, let Lady Di tell it!"

Lady Di came to scratch with the best will in the world.

"To correct a false impression then; for no other reason I tell it save to
kill worse rumours. Everybody knows I hate scandal."

"'Slife, yes! Everybody knows that," agreed Craven, leering over at
March.

"Sir Robert Volney then was much taken with a Scotch girl who was visiting
in London, and of course she dreamed air castles and fell in love with
him. 'Twas Joan and Darby all the livelong day, but alack! the maid
discovered, as maids will, that Sir Robert's intentions were--not of the
best, and straightway the blushing rose becomes a frigid icicle. Well,
this Northern icicle was not to be melted, and Sir Robert was for trying
the effect of a Surrey hothouse. In her brother's absence he had the maid
abducted and carried to