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note of his old friend across the way. Indulging in an old perception, it occurred to Burke that there was his true father, a highly intelligent substitute to take the place of that distant and undoubtedly drunken truant.
    Under the effect of these thoughts, he sat up from his slouched position and vowed to give Delane what he wanted, a good conversation.
    But as he commenced to sort through his mind in search of a suitable topic, Delane sat forward. "Your mother, Burke," he began, unaware that it was the last subject in the world that Burke wanted to discuss, "she is worse."
    "I know."

    "What you don't know is that she was talking quite volubly before you came in."
    This was surprising news. "What was she saying?"
    "It was incoherent, most of it. She mentioned your father. And you—she mentioned you as well—said that you had ridden to Mobile in search of whores."
    Burke saw the sly smile on Delane's face and at first was not certain if the man was speaking the truth. Before he could inquire, Delane asked, "Were you?"
    "Was I what?"
    "Searching for whores in Mobile last night."
    "Not likely," Burke said, glancing out the window at the passing countryside, "except perhaps in my imagination."
    "It wasn't your imagination that left you with a bruised hand, was it?"
    Bemused, Burke realized that the old journalist was as curious as a scandal sheet tattler. "No," he said, "this is a badge of honor."
    Briefly he recounted the events of the night before.
    "How dramatic!" Delane smiled. "I wish I could have seen it firsthand. And what favor did the lady give you for your troubles?"
    "Nothing," Burke confessed. "By the time I went to collect she was gone."
    "Ungrateful wench."
    "She's quite remarkable, Delane—"
    "I'm sure of it."
    "—though I'll probably never see her again."
    "Sad."
    "She is so-"
    "Beautiful?"
    "More than beautiful."
    "More than beautiful?" Delane repeated, clearly baiting.
    Embarrassed, Burke fell silent.
    "So you were in pursuit of a whore last night!" Delane smiled.
    "She's not a whore, Delane. In fact I doubt seriously if a man has ever touched her."
    Delane laughed heartily. "Burke, how can you be so naive? Any female who parades herself before a club filled with gentlemen knows precisely what she is doing and how to do it."
    "Not this one."

    Again Delane laughed. "Lord, I wish I had been there! A true virgin is a rare sight these days."
    Burke took note of the grinning face and decided to drop the subject, a bit regretful that he had brought it up in the first place. He felt like a schoolboy confessing his first love. It had been a private interlude in his life, but apparently it was not a memory to be shared, and now Burke hoped Delane would leave it alone.
    Outside the window he saw the outskirts of the approach to Reading, and in his mind's eye he projected the journey yet ahead of them, all the way to the edge of England and the North Devon coast. In an attempt to turn his thoughts to the ordeal ahead, he asked quietly, "And tell me of John Murrey Eden. . . ."
    Across the way, Delane shifted his position as though the cramped interior of the carriage were already beginning to bother him. "What's to tell?" He smiled with suspect innocence.
    "Oh, come now, Delane," Burke scolded, "this is not a pleasure trip and you know it! Apparently I'm to ferret something out at Eden Castle, and you can make my job a lot easier if you at least give me—"
    The very picture of wounded self-righteousness, Delane lifted his hands in mock protest. "Really, Burke, what a suspicious mind you possess. Here I invite you to join me in what well may be the social event of the year, and what do I get for my troubles? Suspicion, doubt and accusations of deception."
    Burke waited out the performance, amused by the protest, a talent which had turned John Thadeus Delane into the awesome journalist that he was, disarming sources which ranged from Lord Russell to Benjamin Disraeli to Lord Aberdeen with that same wide-eyed protest