"I had unlimited credit in the town," she replied. "I could buy what I pleased and charge it, but not a shilling did I have wherewith to pay.

It was my maid, my good Marie, who, when he threatened me with detention, gave me her little all, her savings, and told me to run away--ah, that was bitter! But I knew she meant no disrespect--I accepted it--she shall be repaid a hundred-fold."

"I think you need have no fears of not being restored to all your rights and privileges," he said, "and then?"

"Then I will be free."

"You mean you will procure a separation?"

"A divorce."

"But surely your husband----"

"Oh, he has not even constancy to commend him; he does not even conceal his preferences. He is always receiving letters from some woman--some old friend, he tells me--calling him to London for an hour, or a day, as the case may be, and no matter what plans I may have made, he goes."

"You know her name?"

"She signs her Christian name only--no wonder--but I have her letters and I'll find her out."

"And when you've found her, what then? Will you plead with her?"

"I?" she cried. "I, a De Costa, degrade myself by pleading with a woman of that cla.s.s!"

The Secretary shrugged his shoulders.

"I think every woman," he said, "has some good in her, low as she may be, some spark of longing for better things, some element of self-respect that never quite dies out."

"You're right," she admitted. "A man is by nature a brute. A woman, even at her worst, is not quite that. Some extra spark of divinity seems to have been given her in compensation for her weakness."

"I believe no woman is wholly bad," said the Secretary. "The worst women of history have, at some moments in their lives, been very near redemption."

"I believe that is so," she replied.

"I am very glad to hear you say that. If you can still find charity in your heart for your own s.e.x, surely I may believe, even in the face of my friends' hostile criticism."

"And is there a woman, whom you--shall we say, 'respect' enough to believe in--no matter what is said of her?"

"There is," he replied.

"Then be sure she has some virtues worthy of that respect. I can picture," she went on, "the woman whom you should marry. You must be, to her, an ideal, and she must live her life in terms of you. Gentle and refined, and knowing more of your home than of the world."

The Secretary sighed.

"These are the women," he said, "that we dream of, not that we marry."

"There are many such in the world," she returned. "Is not the woman you are defending one of them?"

"No," he said, "not like that."

"Then she is not worthy of you, she will grate upon you. Does she ever do so?"

"I love her," he said simply.

"Then you will marry her. I'm so glad!" she returned, offering him her hand.

"I don't know. I don't think so," he replied. "I can't tell how I should act."

"Then you do not love her. Love is blind, it does not reason."

"I love her," he repeated, seeking to justify himself. "Certainly I love her, but one should, in this day and generation, love wisely."

"One should love," she replied, "and that is all, neither wisely nor unwisely--love has no limits. You do not love her--you must not marry her--you will be unhappy if you do. I believe she grates on you, you'll never find the good that is in her. That power has been given to some other man."

Stanley raised his hand in protestation, but at that moment, Randell appeared in the doorway, equipped to take Madame De Costa to her hotel, and their private conversation was at an end.

She made her adieux very prettily, not saying too much in the valet's presence, but enough to show how truly deep was her appreciation of the Secretary's kindness, and left him wishing, wondering. He found time before retiring to re-read all Belle's letters for the first time critically, and seriously caught himself wondering if one could really love a woman who wrote slang and whose spelling was not always above suspicion. Subsequently, he remembered, having dismissed Randell for the night, that he had never written that letter to Mrs. Roberts.

It was certainly an unfortunate oversight, but it was too late now; he would telegraph his regrets in the morning, and he fell asleep while making up his mind that he was very glad he had decided not to go.

He arose refreshed and altogether philosophic, relegated Madame De Costa to past diplomatic experiences, and in the light of that youthful folly which wears the guise of wisdom, told himself, as he walked across the Green Park to his office, that he was glad the incident was over.

But nevertheless, while he thought of the fair Senora many times during the morning, the existence of Miss Fitzgerald, or of her aunt, never occurred to him till force of circ.u.mstances brought it to his mind.

Force of circ.u.mstances, in this instance, found actual embodiment in the person of Randell, who put in an appearance at the Legation about noon.

The valet had never been there before in his life, and his appearance in Stanley's office was a.s.surance in itself that something most unusual must have happened. The instant he set eyes on him, the Secretary was prepared for a fire or the death of a relative--at least.

"Well?" he said. "What is it?"

"A gentleman 'as called to see you, sir, at the house."

"You didn't come all the way down here to tell me that!" he exclaimed, immensely relieved.

"Yes, sir. You see, sir, it was some particular gentleman."

"Who?"

"Colonel Darcy, sir."

"Good Heavens!"

"And very excited, sir."

"Naturally; but how did he know that Madame De Costa--Mrs. Darcy, I mean. That is, why didn't he come to the Legation?"

"You see, sir, as he told me the story----" and Randell paused uneasily.

"Well, out with it, man: what did he tell you?"

"That the lady had written him--which he got this morning, that she had placed herself in your care, and all her belongings were to be sent to your address."