“Never mind,” he said, “I’ve had similar luck.  I’ve just got hooked up in a root and lost a fly.  Let’s have lunch—­shall we?”

Dorise was in no mood to lunch with her mother’s visitor, but, nevertheless, was compelled to be polite.

After washing their hands in the stream, they sat down together upon a great, grey boulder that had been worn smooth by the action of the water, and, taking out their sandwiches, began to eat them.

“Oh, I say!” exclaimed Sherrard suddenly, after they had been gossiping for some time.  “Have you heard from your friend Henfrey lately?”

“Not lately,” replied the girl, a trifle resentful that he should obtrude upon her private affairs.

“I only ask because—­well, because there are some jolly queer stories going about town of him.”

“Queer stories!” she echoed quickly.  “What are they?  What do people say?”

“Oh!  They say lots of extraordinary things.  I think your mother has done very well to drop him.”

“Has mother dropped him?” asked the girl in pretence of ignorance.

“She told me so last night, and I was extremely glad to hear it—­though he is your friend.  It seems that he’s hardly the kind of fellow you should know, Dorise.”

“Why do you say that?” his companion asked, her eyes flashing instantly.

“What!  Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“The story that’s going round the clubs.  He’s missing, and has been so for quite a long time.  You haven’t seen him—­have you?”

The girl was compelled to reply in the negative.

“But what do they say against him?” she demanded breathlessly.

“There’s a lot of funny stories,” was Sherrard’s reply.  “They say he’s hiding from the police because he attempted to murder a notorious woman called Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo.  Do you know about it?”

“It’s a wicked lie!” blurted forth the girl.  “Hugh never attempted to kill the woman!”

Sherrard looked straight into her blue eyes, and asked: 

“Then why was he in her room at midnight?  They say the reason Henfrey is hard-up is because he spent all he possessed upon the woman, and on going there that night she laughed him to scorn and told him she had grown fond of a rich Austrian banker.  After mutual recriminations, Henfrey, knowing the woman had ruined him, drew out a revolver and shot her.”

“I tell you it’s an abominable lie!  Hugh is not an assassin!” cried the girl fiercely.

“I merely repeat what I have heard on very good authority,” replied the smug-faced man with the thick red lips.

“And you have of course told my mother that—­eh?”

“I didn’t think it was any secret,” he said.  “Indeed, I think it most fortunate we all know the truth.  The police must get him one day—­before long.”

For a few moments Dorise remained silent, her eyes fixed across the broad river to the opposite bank.