all. As she went by him he slewed about to follow her
with his eyes, kicking aside the dog that hampered him, crouching
against his legs: and still his gaze followed her, to the outer door.

Not until she had closed the outer door behind her did he face about
on the room again; and still it was as if all the wind had been
shaken, of a sudden, out of his sails. His next words, moreover--
strange as they were--would have stablished his identity with Farrell
even had any doubt lingered in us.

"Funny thing," said he, addressing us vaguely, "how like blood tells,
even down to a look in the eyes. I was husband to a woman once,
thousands of miles from here and foreign of race: but she came of
kings, though far away back, and Miss Denistoun, Sir Roderick, she
reminded me, just then--"

"Look here, Mr. Farrell," I broke in; "with your leave we won't
discuss Miss Denistoun, here or anywhere--as, with your leave, we'll
cut all further conversation until Dr. Foe is fit for it, which at
this moment he pretty obviously is not. It may help your silence if
I tell you that the lady who has just left is, or was, engaged to
marry him."

"_Christ! . . . And she knows?_" He stared, less at us than at the
four walls about him.

"She does not," said I: "or did not, until a few minutes ago."

"But _you_ knew!"--Wrath again filled Farrell's sails. "_You_ knew--
and you allowed it. . . . And you call yourselves gentlemen, I
suppose!"

"If you take that tone with either of us for an instant longer,"
I answered, after a pause, "you shall be thrown out of that door, and
your dog shall follow through the window. If you prefer to stand
quite still and hold your tongue--will you?--why, then, you are
welcome to the information that I only heard of this engagement less
than an hour ago, and Mr. Collingwood less than ten minutes before
you entered."

"But you knew _that other thing_," Farrell insisted.

"Yes, I knew," said I: "and for the simple reason that Dr. Foe told
it all to me. And Mr. Collingwood knows, for I told it to him.
We two have kept the secret."

"And," sneered Farrell, "you still keep being his friends!"

"No," I answered; "as a matter of fact, we do not. But you have
taken that tone again with me in spite of my warning, and I shall now
throw you downstairs. . . . You are an ill-used man, I believe,
though not by me: and for that reason, if you come back--say at ten
to-morrow morning--and apologise, you will fin