“What’stherowabout，Crawley，myboy？”saidtheoldwarrior。”Nomoregamblingbusiness，hay，likethatwhenweshotCaptainMarker？”
“It’sabout——aboutmywife。”Crawleyanswered，castingdownhiseyesandturningveryred。
Theothergaveawhistle。”Ialwayssaidshe’dthrowyouover。”hebegan——indeedtherewerebetsintheregimentandattheclubsregardingtheprobablefateofColonelCrawley，solightlywashiswife’scharacteresteemedbyhiscomradesandtheworld；butseeingthesavagelookwithwhichRawdonansweredtheexpressionofthisopinion，Macmurdodidnotthinkfittoenlargeuponitfurther。
“Istherenowayoutofit，oldboy？”theCaptaincontinuedinagravetone。”Isitonlysuspicion，youknow，or——orwhatisit？Anyletters？Can’tyoukeepitquiet？
Bestnotmakeanynoiseaboutathingofthatsortifyoucanhelpit。”“Thinkofhisonlyfindingheroutnow。”theCaptainthoughttohimself，andrememberedahundredparticularconversationsatthemess-table，inwhichMrs。