He told me last night he had
beaten the Irish secretary the other day in the billiard-room of the
House of Commons. I humbly suspect that was a lie. At least, I can't
remember anything about a billiard-table in the House of Commons, and
I was two or three times through every bit of it when I was a little
chap with an uncle of mine, who was a member then; but perhaps they've
got a billiard-table now. Who knows? He told me he had stood for an
Irish borough, spent three thousand pounds on a population of two
hundred and eighty-four, and all he got was a black eye and a broken
head. I should say all that was a fabrication too; indeed, I think he
rather amuses himself with lies--and brandy-and-water. But you don't
want to know anything more about him, Mrs. Rosewarne?"
She did not. All that she cared to know was in that little strip of
printed paper; and as she left the room to get ready for the drive she
expressed herself grateful to him in such warm tones that he was
rather astonished. After all, as he said to himself, he had had
nothing to do in bringing about the marriage of that somewhat gorgeous
person in whom Mrs. Rosewarne was so strangely interested.
They were silent as they drove away. There was one happy face amongst
them, that of Mrs. Rosewarne, but she was thinking of her own affairs
in a sort of pleased reverie.
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