im, pachydermatously applauding the
creditable attempts of Sir John Sankey at the cannon game, and as
studiously ignoring the excellent shots of an undistinguished clergyman
who was beating the judge. Quinby made room for me beside him, with a
civility which might have caused me some compunction, but I repaid him
by coming promptly to my point.

"What's this report about Mrs. Lascelles?" I asked, not angrily at all,
for naturally my feeling in the matter was not so strong as Bob's, but
with a certain contemptuous interest, if a man can judge of his own
outward manner from his inner temper at the time.

Quinby favoured me with a narrow though a sidelong look; the room was
very full, and in the general chit-chat, punctuated by the constant
clicking of the heavy balls, there was very little danger of our being
overheard. But Quinby was careful to lower his voice.

"It's perfectly true," said he, "if you mean about her being divorced."

"Yes, that was what I heard; but who started the report?"

"Who started it. You may well ask! Who starts anything in a place like
this? Ah, good shot, Sir John, good shot!"

"Never mind the good shots, Quinby. I really rather want to talk to you
about this. I sha'n't keep you long."

"Talk away, then. I am listening."

"Mrs. Lascelles and I are rather friends."

"So I can see."

"Very well, then, I want to know who started all this. It may be
perfectly true, as you say, but who found it out? If you can't tell me
I must ask somebody else."

The ruddy Alpine colouring had suddenly become accentuated in the case
of Quinby.

"As a matter of fact," said he, "it was I who first heard of it, quite
by chance. You can't blame me for that, Clephane."

"Of course not," said I encouragingly.

"Well, unfortunately I let it out; and you know how things get about in
an hotel."

"It was unfortunate," I agreed. "But how on earth did you come to hear?"

Quinby hummed and hawed; he had heard from a soldier friend, a man who
had known her in India, a man whom I knew myself, in fact Hamilton the
sapper, who had telegraphed to Quinby to secure me my room. I ought to
have been disarmed by the coincidence; but I recalled our initial
conversation, about India and Hamilton and Mrs. Lascelles, and I could
not consider it a coincidence at all.

"You don't mean to tell me," said I, aping the surprise I might have
felt, "that our friend wrote and gave Mrs. Lascelles away to you of his
own accord?"