“But does it make no difference to you?  My good boy, can you at your age seriously think of marrying a woman who has been married twice already, and divorced once?”

“I didn’t know that when I thought of it first,” he answered, doggedly, “and I am not going to let it make a difference now.  Do you suppose I would stand away from her because of anything that’s past and over?  Do they stand away from us for—­that sort of thing?”

Of course I said that was rather different, with as much conviction as though the ancient dogma had been my own.

“But, Duncan, you know it’s the very last thing you’re dreaming of doing yourself!”

And again I argued, as feebly as you please, that it was quite different in my case—­that I was a good ten years older than he, and not my mother’s only son.

Bob stiffened on the spot.

“My mother must take care of herself,” said he; “and I,” he added, “I must take care of myself, if you don’t mind.  And I hope you won’t, for you’ve been most awfully good to me, you know!  I never thought so until these last few minutes; but now I sha’n’t forget it, no matter how it all turns out!”

CHAPTER IX

SUB JUDICE

Well, I made a belated attempt to earn my young friend’s good opinion.  I kept out of his way after dinner, and went in search of Quinby instead.  I felt I had a crow of my own to pluck with this gentleman, who owed to my timely intervention a far greater immunity than he deserved.  It was in the little billiard-room I found him, pachydermatously applauding the creditable attempts of Sir John Sankey at the cannon game, and as studiously ignoring the excellent shots of an undistinguished clergyman who was beating the judge.  Quinby made room for me beside him, with a civility which might have caused me some compunction, but I repaid him by coming promptly to my point.

“What’s this report about Mrs. Lascelles?” I asked, not angrily at all, for naturally my feeling in the matter was not so strong as Bob’s, but with a certain contemptuous interest, if a man can judge of his own outward manner from his inner temper at the time.

Quinby favoured me with a narrow though a sidelong look; the room was very full, and in the general chit-chat, punctuated by the constant clicking of the heavy balls, there was very little danger of our being overheard.  But Quinby was careful to lower his voice.

“It’s perfectly true,” said he, “if you mean about her being divorced.”

“Yes, that was what I heard; but who started the report?”

“Who started it.  You may well ask!  Who starts anything in a place like this?  Ah, good shot, Sir John, good shot!”

“Never mind the good shots, Quinby.  I really rather want to talk to you about this.  I sha’n’t keep you long.”

“Talk away, then.  I am listening.”

“Mrs. Lascelles and I are rather friends.”