Lionel?  That was the last name she expected to hear!

“I don’t know exactly what you mean by ‘attached,’ Mark,” she said coldly.  “But yes, I’ve always been fond of him—­in a way I suppose you might call it ’attached’—­since that horrid affair, years ago, when you were so kind both to him and to me.”

“Don’t couple yourself with him,” he said sternly, “if, as I gather, you don’t really care for him, Blanche.”  And then, almost inaudibly, he added:  “You don’t know the tortures of jealousy I’ve suffered at the thought of you and that man.”

“Tortures of jealousy?” she repeated, astonished, and rather touched.  “Oh, Mark—­poor Mark!  Why didn’t you ask me?  I’ve never, never cared for him in—­in that sort of way.  How could you think I did?”

“Yet you’re here, in his house,” he said, “acting (so you said in your letter) as hostess to his guests?  And surely you’ve always been on terms of what most people would call close friendship with him?”

“Yes, I suppose I have”—­she hesitated—­“in a way.  I’ve always felt that, like me, he hadn’t many real friends.  And, of course, in old days, ages ago, he was very fond of me,” she smiled.  “That always pleases a woman, Mark.”

“Does it?” he asked, probingly; and as only answer she reddened slightly.

There came a little pause, and then Blanche exclaimed: 

“I’m sorry, very sorry, if he’s got into a new scrape, Mark; and I’m surprised too.  Some two years ago he married a rich woman; she died not long after their marriage, but she was devoted to him, and he’s quite well off now.”

“Did you know her?” asked Mark Gifford, in a singular tone.

“No, I never came across her.  I was away—­in Portugal, I think.  He wrote and told me about his marriage, and then, later, when his wife fell ill, he wrote again.  He was extremely good to her, Mark.”

“D’you know much about Varick’s early life?” he asked.

“I think I know all there is to know,” she answered.

What was Mark getting at?  What had Lionel Varick done?  Her mind was already busily intent on the thought of how disagreeable it would be to have to warn him of impending unpleasantness.

It was good of Mark to have taken all this trouble!  Of course, he had taken it for her sake, and she felt very grateful—­and still a little frightened; he looked so unusually grave.

“What do you know of Varick’s early life?” he persisted.

“I don’t think there’s very much to know,” she answered uneasily.  “His father had a place in Yorkshire, and got involved in some foolish, wild speculations.  In the end the man went bankrupt, everything was sold up, and they were very poor for a while—­horribly poor, I believe.  Then the elder Varick died, and his widow and Lionel went and lived at Bedford.  I gather Lionel’s mother was clever, proud, and quarrelsome.  At any rate, she quarrelled with her people, and he had a very lonely boyhood and youth.”