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Gosse sneered. “You are not content then with stealing from me my name. ’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. She went to a dramatic agent, and he turned out to be the one who had heard me sing in Paris. You never can tell. He smothered it down with such a good will that the reaction set his heart to pounding. ’ The questions that had long haunted her came out at last. “What is the good of talking?” said her brother. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. There is no need of your friend to kill you, imbecile, because I shall do so this minute. We shall have—hardly any money. But for me it doesn’t matter. The sergeant had not seen it for he understood nothing of what she told him. Two persons possessing a more comfortable stock of assurance could not be readily found.
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