“No,” she replied, “just as people sometimes say things they don’t fully mean, I suppose. For instance,” she continued with meaning, “indelicate and careless remarks in the excitement of play at baccarat!” “Indelicate and careless remarks--baccarat!” he repeated, with evident wonderment. “I realize I am stupid, but I don’t understand.” She turned her great eyes upon his face and as she saw the perplexity there her heart gave a joyful leap. Long ago she had to herself fully exonerated him and had pitilessly condemned herself for having ever entertained a single doubt. Now, it seemed, the entire story of the infamous Brooke was a falsehood woven out of whole cloth. Still, with the spirit of inquisition natural to womankind, she determined to probe the entire matter to the bitter end. “Yes; at baccarat, I said,” she answered gayly. “Weren’t you with the Tenth before you came to the Guards?” “Yes,” he answered, wondering what was coming next. “And the Tenth were sorry gamblers, were they not?” she persisted. “Was there not a great deal of baccarat playing toward the close of the season at Oldport?” “I don’t know whether I ought to disclose the secrets of the mess-room,” he replied; “but I don’t mind admitting what was generally known and talked about. Your information is quite correct, I regret to say.” “You regret?” she asked. “Why? It is rumored that Captain Mortimer was one of the most assiduous devotees.” “Then rumor falsifies,” he answered gravely; “for I disapprove upon military grounds of all forms of gambling in military quarters. _I never played baccarat in a regimental mess-room in my life._” She gave a little cry of astonishment and joy. Complete, indeed, was this refutation of the tale of the Brooke! “Why,” she exclaimed, with the inconsequence of a true woman, “why did you never tell me this before?” “Tell you before!” he repeated. “Why should I?” “Never mind,” she answered, panting, “I’m still quite angry with you.” “Angry?” he asked, perturbed. “Why? Because I haven’t played baccarat?” “No, no,” she retorted impatiently. “Because you are so credulous.” “Credulous?” “Yes,” she replied petulantly. “What was that interesting story told to you at the last ball regarding a certain lady who shall be nameless? A story which you accepted and believed, I suppose!” she added indignantly. He stared straight ahead and made no reply. “Oh, it was told to you in strictest confidence, I presume?” she pouted. “That which I’m told in confidence I make a point of forgetting I’ve ever heard,” he replied, fencing. “You surely will not blame me?” “That’s doubtless right,” she admitted; “but let me say,” she added with meaning, “the waters of a certain Brooke may babble not only unceasingly, but also very falsely. Will you bear that in mind if you should remember a certain confidence?” “You’re not angry with me?” he pleaded. “Very little,” she answered; “in fact, so little that you may have the next waltz--if you care for it.”