drily replied the Field-marshal, amid
general laughter, "if it's kept him abroad all these years."

"If you will take my advice, Batchelor," said Hawkesbury, "you'll be
careful how you tell everybody a thing like this. It's not a pleasant
sort of thing to be known of a fellow."

"Indeed, indeed," I cried once more, almost beside myself with terror
and rage, "you're all wrong. I wish I'd said nothing about it. Won't
you believe me?"

"Delighted," said Whipcord, who with every one else had been enjoying my
dismay, and laughing at my efforts to extricate myself. "You say
Smith's governor is a--"

"No--it's false. I was telling a lie!" I cried, in tones of misery
which any ordinary mortal would have pitied. "I don't know what he is.
I never heard of him. Indeed, indeed, I was only speaking in fun."

Thus wildly did I hope by a shield of lies to hide the secret which I
had--by my manner more than my words--betrayed.

"I'm afraid, Batchelor," said Hawkesbury, with a grave but sweet smile,
"you either are not telling quite the truth, or you are speaking in fun
about a very serious matter."

"Oh yes, you're right," I cried; "I've been telling lies; upon my honour
I have."

"Upon his honour he's been telling lies," said Daly. "The fellow _will_
have his joke. Never saw such a joker in all my days."

I would fain have rushed from the place, but I dared not. Every word I
said involved me deeper, and yet I could not leave them all like this
without one effort at least either to recover my secret--Jack's secret--
or else to appeal to their confidence and generosity.

It was evident they were not disposed to believe anything I told them,
except the one hideous fact. And that, though I had not uttered it in
so many words, every one believed from my lips as if I had been
inspired.

I sat in abject misery while the meal lasted, listening to the brutal
jests made at the cost of my absent friend, and knowing that I was
responsible for them all.

Directly supper was over I appealed to Doubleday.

"I do hope you won't say anything about this at the office, Doubleday,"
I said, imploringly. "It would be such a dreadful thing for it to get
out."

"Then it is true?" demanded Doubleday.

"No--that is--I--I--don't know," responded I, "but oh! don't say
anything about it."

"Bless me, if you don't know," said he, "why do you make such a fuss?
Take my advice, young un, and don't say any more about it to any one.
Y