He was engaged in stroking Daphne's fingers and studying the small set face.
"Whom did she marry ?" asked Daphne, putting an end to the stroking.
"A fellow in the army--Major Fairmile--a smart, popular sort of chap.

He was her father's aide-de-camp when they married--just after we did--and they've been in India, or Egypt, ever since.

They don't get on, and I suppose she comes and quarters herself on the old Duchess--as she used to on us." "You seem to know all about her! Yes, I remember now, I've heard people speak of her to you.

Mrs.Fairmile--Mrs.Fairmile--yes, I remember," said Daphne, in a brooding voice, her cheeks becoming suddenly very red.
"Your uncle--in town--mentioned her.

I didn't take any notice." "Why should you?
She doesn't matter a fig, either to you or to me!" "It matters to me very much that these people who spoke of her--your uncle and the others--knew what I didn't know!" cried Daphne, passionately.