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But I was
surprised at Fyne obscurely feeling this.
"She loves no one except that preposterous advertising shark," he pursued
venomously, but in a more deliberate manner. "And Anthony knows it."
"Does he?" I said doubtfully.
"She's quite capable of having told him herself," affirmed Fyne, with
amazing insight. "But whether or no, _I've_ told him."
"You did? From Mrs. Fyne, of course."
Fyne only blinked owlishly at this piece of my insight.
"And how did Captain Anthony receive this interesting information?" I
asked further.
"Most improperly," said Fyne, who really was in a state in which he
didn't mind what he blurted out. "He isn't himself. He begged me to
tell his sister that he offered no remarks on her conduct. Very improper
and inconsequent. He said . . . I was tired of this wrangling. I told
him I made allowances for the state of excitement he was in."
"You know, Fyne," I said, "a man in jail seems to me such an incredible,
cruel, nightmarish sort of thing that I can hardly believe in his
existence. Certainly not in relation to any other existences.


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