He lost his nerve because--"
"Because it was you, my dear," said Chevenix briskly. She owned soberly to
that.
"I shall see your people when I get to town," he told her. "I shall make a
point of seeing Vicky and your governor. And if I could drop in upon
Senhouse, by George, I'd risk it. You don't know where he is just now, I
suppose?"
"He was in the Black Forest when I last heard from him," she said, "and
was going to the Caucasus--to collect plants. That was a long time ago.
Three years, I should think. He doesn't write now. He's married, you
know."
"Married?" he repeated, with open eyes. "I never knew that."
"He married a Mrs. Germain--a widow."
Chevenix stared, then slapped his leg. "Then that accounts for it! Didn't
I tell you I met him when I went out to Brindisi to see Nevile off--met
him on a steamer, with a pretty woman? That was Mrs. G.--_his_ pretty
woman. Good Lord, how rum!" He laughed, staring. Then, "What on earth did
he do that for? She's not his sort. And I gave myself away--confoundedly--
to each of 'em in turn. You'll never believe it, but I told _him_ that
she'd always been in love with Tristram Duplessis, and then I gave _her_
to understand what had been the matter with old Senhouse.
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