"I have nothing to say," he replied.

"Diplomatic to the end, I see," she retorted. "But you can't expect to share my confidences unless you give me yours. Now tell me, have you discovered any of the conspirators yet?"

"I can truthfully say," he replied, "that as far as I know, there is n.o.body at Roberts' Hall connected with the conspiracy to which you allude."

"So you've come down here at the busiest season of your year on indefinite leave just to pay a country-house visit."

"How did you know that?" he asked.

"Randell," she replied.

"Good Heavens!" he cried, "you haven't been to my rooms again."

"Naturally not," she returned coldly. "Your servant brought a pair of gloves to my hotel, which I left at your rooms."

The Secretary bit his lips and changed the conversation, and made a mental note of the fact that if Randell was becoming talkative, he would have to go.

"You asked me," he said, "if I had discovered one of the agents of this mysterious treaty of which you seem to know so much. Perhaps you will tell me if you have?"

"Yes," she said, smiling.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Ah!" she cried. "I thought I should break down your reserve."

"Well," he said sheepishly, "what have you to say?"

"Nothing," she replied. "I only exchange confidences for confidences.

Tell me whom you suspect, and I will tell you whom I know."

"What you ask is impossible," he replied, feeling that he could never wound her by admitting his suspicions of her husband.

"So be it," she said gaily, giving him her hand, and added, "Come and see me again when you can spare a little time from your detective work."

The Secretary saw she was laughing at him, and took his leave discomfited. Madame Darcy watched him go, and sighed gently as she turned to re-enter the house. She also had felt that she would not have dared to wound him by mentioning her suspicions.

CHAPTER XIII

THE SERIOUS SIDE OF MISS FITZGERALD'S NATURE

It may have been contrition for her shortcomings which induced Miss Fitzgerald to offer her services to the Reverend Reginald Lambert to a.s.sist in decorating the altar of the little church for the ensuing Sunday, and it may not. At any rate, she did offer them, and they were gratefully accepted.

She was dressed in a garb which would have befitted a postulant for a religious order, and her sweet seriousness, and altogether becoming demeanour, charmed the Reverend Reginald.

The old parson was, it is needless to say, a thorough nonent.i.ty, and the skilful attentions of his fair a.s.sistant were the more appreciated, because the more rare.

"It's very kind of you, my dear," he said, "to give so much of your time to helping an old man."

"I'm afraid I don't give up half enough. I think we should give ourselves to the serious side of life at least for a little while every week, don't you? We are so apt to devote ourselves to frivolities."

"I'm very glad to hear you say that. Young people are none too serious nowadays; but I'm sure you're too strong a nature to be wholly frivolous."

"I'm afraid not, but I often do things I don't care for, to keep myself from thinking. My life hasn't been all a bed of roses, Mr. Lambert."

"You surprise me," he said, sitting down in the front pew to get a better view of their united arrangement of potted plants. "That's very pretty, my dear. Now come and sit by me, and tell me all about it, and if an old man's advice----"

"Oh, I _do_ so want advice," she said. "You can't realise what the life I lead means to a girl--my parents are both dead, you know."

"Yes, poor child. I remember; Mrs. Roberts told me. How sad!"

"I've no settled home-- I knock about. I try my best, I do indeed, Mr.

Lambert; but with no one to advise me--no older woman than myself who really cares--it is at times very hard."

"But you've relatives--Mrs. Roberts."

"Yes, of course, they're very kind, and all that; but a young girl needs far more than what she could ask of a remote relative. She needs watchful care, constant protection. You've had a daughter, Mr. Lambert."

"Yes, yes, I know. My dear Mary was a model girl, Miss Fitzgerald; a good child is a great blessing. I see your position."

"I'm sure you do. Try as one may, a young girl has not that experience which comes with age, her best efforts are sometimes misinterpreted-- I've suffered keenly myself."

"My poor child," said the old rector, patting her hand in a fatherly manner. "My poor child! You yourself see the need of a guiding hand."

"I do, I do. Having no one to fight life's battle for me, I've become of necessity self-reliant."

"Of course, of course."

"It has been misinterpreted, misunderstood. I've been called--hard; worse-- I've been thought----" Her voice broke.

"My dear child," said the old man, "you'll forgive my speaking plainly, but you should be married. You need a husband. Someone who will take the responsibility from you."

Miss Fitzgerald breathed a contented little sigh, and her bowed head leaned, oh, so lightly, against his shoulder!

"I hoped you would say that," she murmured.

"Is there someone--then--someone you love? You rejoice me exceedingly."

Resuming a more erect posture, she said earnestly:

"Tell me, Mr. Lambert, would you ever consent to perform a marriage--quietly--very quietly--say, with the knowledge of only the contracting parties and witnesses?"

"If there were good and sufficient reasons. Of course, if the young lady's parents were living, I should wish to be a.s.sured of their consent first."

"Oh!" murmured Miss Fitzgerald.