“She said”—­Robert struck his knee—­“she said I should have the girl’s address.  She said she would see her.  She pledged that to me.  I’m speaking of the lady up at Fairly.  Come! things get clearer.  If she knows where Dahlia is, who told her?  This Mr. Algernon—­not Edward Blancove—­was seen with Dahlia in a box at the Playhouse.  He was there with Dahlia, yet I don’t think him the guilty man.  There’s a finger of light upon that other.”

“Who is this lady?” Major Waring asked, with lifted eyebrows.

“Mrs. Lovell.”

At the name, Major Waring sat stricken.

“Lovell!” he repeated, under his breath.  “Lovell!  Was she ever in India?”

“I don’t know, indeed.”

“Is she a widow?”

“Ay; that I’ve heard.”

“Describe her.”

Robert entered upon the task with a dozen headlong exclamations, and very justly concluded by saying that he could give no idea of her; but his friend apparently had gleaned sufficient.

Major Waring’s face was touched by a strange pallor, and his smile had vanished.  He ran his fingers through his hair, clutching it in a knot, as he sat eyeing the red chasm in the fire, where the light of old days and wild memories hangs as in a crumbling world.

Robert was aware of there being a sadness in Percy’s life, and that he had loved a woman and awakened from his passion.  Her name was unknown to him.  In that matter, his natural delicacy and his deference to Percy had always checked him from sounding the subject closely.  He might be, as he had said, keen as a woman where his own instincts were in action; but they were ineffective in guessing at the cause for Percy’s sudden depression.

“She said—­this lady, Mrs. Lovell, whoever she may be—­she said you should have the girl’s address:—­gave you that pledge of her word?” Percy spoke, half meditating.  “How did this happen?  When did you see her?”

Robert related the incident of his meeting with her, and her effort to be a peacemaker, but made no allusion to Mrs. Boulby’s tale of the bet.

“A peacemaker!” Percy interjected.  “She rides well?”

“Best horsewoman I ever saw in my life,” was Robert’s ready answer.

Major Waring brushed at his forehead, as in impatience of thought.

“You must write two letters:  one to this Mrs. Lovell.  Say, you are about to leave the place, and remind her of her promise.  It’s incomprehensible; but never mind.  Write that first.  Then to the man.  Say that your friend—­by the way, this Mrs. Lovell has small hands, has she?  I mean, peculiarly small?  Did you notice, or not?  I may know her.  Never mind.  Write to the man.  Say—­don’t write down my name—­say that I will meet him.”  Percy spoke on as in a dream.  “Appoint any place and hour.  To-morrow at ten, down by the river—­the bridge.  Write briefly.  Thank him for his offer to afford you explanations.  Don’t argue it with me any more.  Write both the letters straight off.”