ontributed very little to the conversation during dinner. He ate
almost nothing, drank only water, looked about him restlessly, muttered
something about its being strangely close for March, crumbled up his
bread into little heaps.

When they were back in Christopher's smoking-room Breton collapsed into
a deep chair, lay there, staring desperately about him, then, with a
jerk, pulled himself up and began to stride the room, swinging his arm,
then pulling at his beard, crying out at last, "My God! it's stifling.
Christopher--I must go out. I can't stand this. It's beyond my bearing."

Christopher made him sit down again and then, feeling that he could not
more surely hold the man than by plunging at once into what was, in all
probability, the heart of his trouble, said:

"Look here, Frank, I said I wouldn't badger you and I won't, but there's
something about which I must speak to you. You must tell me the truth.
There's more involved than just ourselves."

Breton seemed instantly aware of Christopher's meaning. He sat up. "I
knew," he said, "that I was in for a lecture. Well, it can't make any
difference."

"No," Christopher answered brusquely. "Whether it makes any difference
to you or no you've _got_ to listen, Frank. It's simply this. I happened
to hear, a good time ago, that you had met Rachel. I knew that she had
been to your rooms. I knew that you had corresponded. I should dismiss
that man-servant of yours, Frank."

Breton muttered something.

"You might have told me yourself, Frank. You might, both of you, have
told me. But never mind--it's all too late for that now. The point is
that it was your grandmother that told me."

"My God!" Breton cried. "She knows? She knew.... But there was nothing
_to_ know. There was nothing anyone mightn't have known. If anyone dares
to breathe a syllable against one of the purest, noblest ..."

"Yes, yes. I know all that," Christopher answered. "But the thing is
simply this. I don't know--she doesn't know exactly what the truth is
between you and Rachel. All that she does know is that Rachel went to
see you and wrote to you. Now Roddy Seddon isn't--or wasn't aware that
his wife had ever met you. He holds the more or less traditional family
point of view about you. I believe that, two or three days ago, the
Duchess told him about Rachel's visits. I am not sure of this. I hope
that by now Rachel herself has told her husband. But of that also I'm
not sure. All I know is that