She did not even turn her head.  Thinner a good deal since her marriage, she seemed to him to have grown taller, to have gained in dignity and presence, as she stood there before him, her angry eyes fixed upon his face.  She was no longer a person to be ignored.

“You must tell me about this—­or—­”

“Or?” he repeated, stonily.

“Or I will make a public statement,” she answered.  “If you ruin my husband’s career, I can at least do the same with yours.  Politics is supposed to be a game for honourable men to play with honourable weapons.  I wonder if Lord Redford would approve of your methods?”

“You can go and ask him, my dear madam,” he answered.  “I am perfectly ready to defend myself.”

“Defend!  You have no defence,” she answered.  “Can you deny that you are plotting to keep my husband out of Parliament now, just as a few months ago you plotted to bring him back?  You are making use of a personal secret, a forgotten chapter of his life, to move him about like a puppet to do your will.”

“I work for the good of a cause and a great party,” he answered.  “You do not understand these things.”

“I understand you so far as this,” she answered.  “You are one of those to whom life is a chessboard, and your one aim is to make the pieces work for you, and at your bidding, till you sit in the place you covet.  There isn’t much of the patriot about you, Sir Leslie Borrowdean.”

He glanced down at his unfinished breakfast.  He had the air of one who is a little bored.

“My dear lady,” he said, “is this discussion really worth while?”

“No,” she answered, bluntly, “it isn’t.  You are quite right.  We are wandering from the subject.”

“Let us talk,” he suggested, “after breakfast.  Give me back that telegram now, and I will explain it, say, in the garden in half an hour.  I detest cold coffee.”

“You can do like me, order some fresh,” she said.  “If I let you out of my sight I know very well how much I shall see of you for the rest of the day.  Explain now if you can.  What does that telegram mean?”

“Surely it is obvious enough,” he answered.  “The man Parkins, whom you told me was dead, is alive and in Leeds.  He has seen Mannering’s name about, has been talking, and the press have got hold of his story.  I am sorry, but there was always this possibility, wasn’t there?”

“And this telegram?” she asked.

“I know Polden, the editor of the paper, and he referred to me to know if there could be any truth in it.”

“These are lies!” she declared.  “You were the instigator.  You set them on the track.”

“I have nothing more to say,” Borrowdean declared, coldly.

“I have,” she said.  “I shall take this telegram to Lord Redford.  I shall tell him everything!”

A faint smile flickered upon Borrowdean’s lips.

“Lord Redford would, I am sure, be charmed to hear your story,” he remarked.  “Unfortunately he started for Dieppe this morning before eight o’clock, and will not be back until to-morrow.”