’You mean, Mrs. Damerel, that what passes between us is in confidence?’

’I only mean, Mr. Tarrant, that I am giving you an opportunity of explaining yourself—­so that I can keep the matter private if your explanation is satisfactory.’

‘You have a charge of some kind to bring against me,’ said Tarrant composedly.  ’I must first of all hear what it is.  The prisoner at the bar can’t be prosecuting counsel at the same time.’

‘Do you acknowledge that you are on intimate terms with Miss.  Lord?’

‘I have known her for a year or two.’

Tarrant began to exercise caution.  Nancy had no hand in this matter; some one had told tales about her, that was all.  He must learn, without committing himself, exactly how much had been discovered.

‘Are you engaged to her?’

‘Engaged to marry her?  No.’

He saw in Mrs. Damerel’s clear eye that she convicted him of ambiguities.

‘You have not even made her a promise of marriage?’

’How much simpler, if you would advance a clear charge.  I will answer it honestly.’

Mrs. Damerel seemed to weigh the value of this undertaking.  Tarrant met her gaze with steady indifference.

’It may only be a piece of scandal,—­a mistake, or a malicious invention.  I have been told that—­that you are in everything but law my niece’s husband.’

They regarded each other during a moment’s silence.  Tarrant’s look indicated rapid and anxious thought.

‘It seems,’ he said at length, ’that you have no great faith in the person who told you this.’

’It is the easiest matter in the world to find out whether the story is true or not.  Inquiries at Falmouth would be quite sufficient, I dare say.  I give you the opportunity of keeping it quiet, that’s all.’

‘You won’t care to let me know who told you?’

‘There’s no reason why I shouldn’t,’ said Mrs. Damerel, after reflection.  ‘Do you know Mr. Luckworth Crewe?’

‘I don’t think I ever heard the name.’

’Indeed?  He is well acquainted with Miss.  Lord.  Some one he wouldn’t mention gave him all the particulars, having learnt them from Miss Lord herself, and he thought it his duty to inform me of my niece’s very painful position.’

‘Who is this man?’ Tarrant asked abruptly.

’I am rather surprised you have never heard of him.  He’s a man of business.  My nephew, Mr. Horace Lord, is shortly to be in partnership with him.’

‘Crewe?  No, the name is quite strange to me.’

Tarrant’s countenance darkened; he paused for an instant, then added impatiently: 

’You say he had “all the particulars.”  What were they, these particulars?’

’Will one be enough?  A child was born at Falmouth, and is now at a place just outside London, in the care of some stranger.’

The source of this information might, or might not, be Nancy herself.  In either case, there was no further hope of secrecy.  Tarrant abandoned his reserve, and spoke quietly, civilly.