Burnaby.

"I suppose," she said, "you realize that you have spoiled my party?"

"I?" said Burnaby.

"Yes, you!" Her small, charming face was a study in ruefulness, and
indecision whether to be angry or not, and, one might almost have
imagined, a certain amused tenderness as well. "Don't you suppose those
people knew of whom you were talking?"

Burnaby, peering down at her, narrowed his eyes and then opened them
very wide. "They couldn't very well have helped it," he said, "could
they? For, you see"--he paused--"the girl who came West was Mrs.
Pollen."

Mrs. Ennis gasped in the manner of a person who is hearing too much.
"Mrs. Pollen?"

"Yes. You knew he had been divorced, didn't you? Years ago."

"I'd heard it, but forgotten." Mrs. Ennis clasped her jeweled hand. "And
you dared," she demanded, "to tell his story before him in that way?"

"Why not? It was rather a complete revenge upon him of fate, wasn't it?
You see, he couldn't very well give himself away, could he? His one
chance was to keep quiet." Burnaby paused and smiled doubtfully at Mrs.
Ennis. "I hope I made his character clear enough," he said. "That, after
all, was the point of the story."