protest leaped into his listless eyes.

"'Pon me word, Agatha, how the devil should I know? Don't look at me
like that. Give you my word of honour, I don't know the woman. 'Pon me
soul, I don't, my dear."

He was very much in earnest, thoroughly aroused by what seemed to be a
direct insinuation.

"Oh, don't be stupid," she cried. "Good heavens, can there be a scandal
in that lovely woman's life?"

"There's never any scandal in a woman's life unless she's reasonably
lovely," remarked he.

"Whose child is she, if she isn't Medcroft's?" she pursued with a
perplexed frown.

"Demme, Agatha, don't ask me," he said irritably, passing his hand over
his brow. "I've told you that twice. Ask them; I daresay they know."

She looked at him in disgust. "As if I could do such a thing as that!
Dear me, I don't understand it at all. Four years married. Yes, I'm sure
that's it. Carney, you don't suppose--" She hesitated. It was not
necessary to complete the obvious question.

"Agatha," said he, weighing his remark carefully, "I've said all along
that Medcroft is a fool. Take those windows, for instance. If he--"

"Oh, rubbish! What have the windows to do with it? You are positively