'I 'm afraid we are illogical, sir,' said Skepsey, adopting one of the
charges of Mr. Durance, to elude the abominable word.

'In you run, my friend.' Dartrey sped him up the steps of the hotel.

A little note lay on his breakfast-table. His invalid uncle's valet gave
the morning's report of the night.

The note was from Mrs. Blathenoy: she begged Captain Dartrey, in double
underlinings of her brief words, to mount the stairs. He debated, and he
went.

She was excited, and showed a bosom compressed to explode: she had been
weeping. 'My husband is off. He bids me follow him. What would you
have me do?'

'Go.'

'You don't care what may happen to your friends, the Radnors?'

'Not at the cost of your separation from your husband.'

'You have seen him!'

'Be serious.'

'Oh, you cold creature! You know--you see: I can't conceal. And you
tell me to go. "Go!" Gracious heavens! I've no claim on you; I haven't
been able to do much; I would have--never mind! believe me or not. And
now I'm to go: on the spot, I suppose. You've seen the man I 'm to go