somehow never happened
to occur to me that you were relating it."

"I didn't," said Peter. "I have never told anyone."

Urquhart said nothing; his silence was expressive.

Peter stammered into speech incoherently.

"At least--at least--yes, I believe I did tell Peggy the story, months
ago, in Venice--but I didn't say it was you. I merely said, if someone
had done that ... what would she think? I wanted to know if she thought
we ought to have found the old man's people and told them."

"I see," said Urquhart. "And did she?"

"No. She thought it was all right." Peter had known beforehand that Peggy
would think it was all right; that was why he had asked her, to be
reassured, to have the vague trouble in his mind quieted.

And she, apparently, had seen through his futile pretence, had known it
was Urquhart he spoke of, needed reassuring about (Peter didn't realise
that even less shrewd observers than Peggy might easily know when it was
Urquhart he spoke of) and had gone and told Hilary. And Hilary, in his
need, had twisted it into this disgusting story, and had typed it and
brought it down to Astleys to-night, with other twisted stories.

"I suppose the rest too," said Urquhart, "you related to your
sister-in-law to see what she would think."

Peter stammered, "I don't think so. No, I don't believe anything else
came from me. Did it, Hilary?"

Hilary shrugged his shoulders, and made no other answer.

"It really doesn't particularly matter," said Urquhart, "whether the
informant was you or some other of my acquaintances. I daresay my gyp is
responsible for the story of the actresses I brought down to the St.
Gabriel's dance; he knew about it at the time, I believe. I am not in the
least ashamed of that either; the 'Berkshire Press' is extremely welcome
to it, if it can find space for it.... Well, now, will you both stay the
night with me, or must you get back? The last good train goes at 10.5, I
think."

Peter said, "Come along, Hilary."

Urquhart stood and watched them go.

As they turned away, he said, in his gentle, inexpressive voice, that
hadn't been raised in anger once, "Can I lend you any money, Peter?"

Peter shook his head, though he felt Hilary start.

"No, thank you. It is very good of you.... Good night."

"Good night."

Going out of the room, they came face to face with Lord Evelyn Urquhart
coming in. He saw them; he stiffened a little, repressing a start; he
stood elaborately aside to l