"It must have been Miss Masterman, I think; but what's the matter?"

"Nothing," said Bill, faintly; "have you got any whiskey handy?"

Islington brought a decanter, and, pouring out some spirits, handed the
glass to Bill. Bill drained it, and then said, "Who is Miss Masterman?"

"Mr. Masterman's daughter; that is, an adopted daughter, I believe."

"Wot name?"

"I really don't know," said Islington, pettishly, more vexed than he
cared to own at this questioning.

Yuba Bill rose and walked to the window, closed it, walked back again
to the door, glanced at Islington, hesitated, and then returned to his
chair.

"I didn't tell you I was married--did I?" he said suddenly, looking up
in Islington's face with an unsuccessful attempt at a reckless laugh.

"No," said Islington, more pained at the manner than the words.

"Fact," said Yuba Bill. "Three years ago it was, Tommy,--three years
ago!"

He looked so hard at Islington, that, feeling he was expected to say
something, he asked vaguely, "Who did you marry?"