“He is a humbug,” she proclaimed in her low, incisive tone.

“Oh! come now,” said Billy.  “A man who gave up
Groombridge—­extraordinary silly thing to do, but he is not a humbug!”

Molly turned on him.

“Yes, he is.  He knows he made a great mistake and he would undo it if he could.”

“Molly, it can’t be true!” cried Adela almost tearfully.  “If you had only heard him preach last Sunday you couldn’t say such hasty, unkind, horrid things!”

“It is true,” said Molly.

“Our hostess is pleased to be mysterious,” said the fat man, and “you know,” turning to Mrs. Delaport Green, “it’s very likely that he is sorry he made such a sacrifice, but I don’t think that prevents its having been a noble action at the time.”

“Or makes him a humbug now,” said the soldier.  “I believe he is an uncommonly nice fellow.”

“Oh! she means something else,” said Lady Sophia, looking at Molly with curiosity.  “What is it you have against him?”

Molly felt the table to be against her, and it added to her nervous irritability.  She was not in any sense drunk, and the drugs she took were in safe doses at present; yet she was to a certain degree influenced both by the champagne she had just taken, and the injection she had given herself when she came in from the theatre.

“You will none of you repeat what I am going to say?”

“I probably shall,” said the big guest, “unless it is excessively interesting; otherwise I never remember what is a secret and what isn’t.”

But Molly did not heed him.

“Well,” she said, “it is a fact that Father Molyneux would give up the Roman Church to-morrow if a very intimate friend of mine, who could give him as much wealth as he has lost, would agree to marry him after he ceased to be a priest!”

“Oh! how dreadfully disappointing!” cried Adela.

“Why shouldn’t he?” said Billy.

“It seems a come-down,” said the fat man; and the soldier said nothing.

“Stuff and nonsense,” said Lady Sophia firmly.  “Somebody has been humbugging you, Molly.”

But being a lady who liked peace better than warfare, she now went on to say that she had had no notion how late it was until this moment, and that she really must be off.  Her farewell was quite friendly, but Molly’s was cold.

The departure of Lady Sophia made a welcome break, and, in spite of the hostess being silent and out of temper, the men managed to divert the conversation into less serious topics.  But they were not likely to forget what Molly had impressed upon their minds by the strange vehemence with which she had emphasised her accusations.

“She meant herself, I suppose?” asked Billy, when leaving the house with his stout fellow guest.  “Do you believe it?”

“It was very curious, very curious indeed.  Do you know I rather doubt if she wholly and entirely believed it herself.”