Stanley said nothing, and his companion, considering the silence dangerous, hastened to break it.

"If I really were to marry you," she asked, "would you desert me as you did yesterday?"

"If you treated me as you've treated me these last few days, I should probably desert you altogether."

The situation was going from bad to worse, and something must be effected or the cause was lost.

"What have I done, Jim?" she asked piteously, taking the bull by the horns, and allowing her eyes to fill with tears.

"What have you done?" he said nonchalantly, with a flippancy which, in the case of women, const.i.tuted his most dangerous weapon. "What have you done? Oh, nothing out of the common, I suppose, only, you see, unfortunately, we men are cursed with a certain, though defective, standard of morals; and the amount of--well, prevarication you've practised over this affair has shattered a number of cherished illusions."

"I wish you wouldn't wax so disgustingly moral, Jimsy. It's so easy to be moral--and it bores me. Of course, I don't like saying what's not so, any more than you do, but one must be consistent. I promised Kingsland I'd arrange the match for him, and when that old fool of a parson put obstacles in the way, and then a.s.sumed I was the bride,--I'll give you my word I never told him so--why, it offered an easy solution of the difficulty. There was nothing illegal about the marriage. I'm sure I'm not responsible for every man who makes a fool of himself, and since I'd undertaken the affair, I was bound, in common decency, to see it through."

"Do you consider 'common decency' just the word to apply to the transaction?"

"Don't pick up details and phrases in that way, Jimsy. They're unimportant--but very irritating."

"Do you think so? Details and phrases go far to make up the sum of life.

Why does Colonel Darcy still remain here?"

"Why do you still persist in harping upon my friend's name?"

"Because I loathe him, Belle. If you knew his true character, you'd cut him the next time you met."

"Ignorance is the only thing that makes life tolerable."

"Nonsense."

"Jim, answer me this question. If I were your wife, would you permit me to keep up my intimacy with Colonel Darcy?"

"No."

"Then I must choose between you two?"

"Do you love me so little that there can be a question of choice?"

"You don't understand. It's easy for you to say, 'Throw him over'; the reality is a very different matter. He's my oldest friend."

"And I'm the man who has asked you to share his name and his honour. If I could prove to you that Darcy was unworthy--would you give him up, for my sake?"

"Can you prove this?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

She smiled faintly, and thought hard. She had learned in that last speech what she most wanted to know--the measure of the Secretary's knowledge.

"Well?" he said, interrogatively.

"I don't know how to answer," she replied. "My intuition says no; my heart says--yes."

The Secretary turned cold, as a new phase of the situation presented itself to his view.

"Do you love this man?" he asked.

"Love Darcy--love him!" she cried. "I hate him more than any man in the world, and yet----"

"You're in his power?"

"No!"

"Then accept me."

"Jim," she said earnestly, "you're asking me to decide my whole life.

Give me twenty-four hours to think it over."

"Haven't you had sufficient time?"

"To-morrow you shall have your answer."

"Much may happen before to-morrow."

"But you'll grant me this respite. I promise that to-morrow I'll say--yes or no."

"To-morrow I too may be able to speak more clearly; till then, promise me you'll not see this man."

"Can't you trust me, Jim? I trust you, and how little a woman can know of a man's life."

"I don't know," he said, and left her discomfited--praying to Heaven that some power might intervene to reconcile her heart and conscience; for this wild, wayward and desperate woman had a conscience, and so far it had withheld her from committing an unpardonable sin.

After lunch, as fate willed it, the Irish girl and the Dowager were left a moment alone together. Being both inflammable substances, sparks flew, and a conflagration ensued.

The credit of starting the combustion must be accorded to the Marchioness. She had observed the young lady's earnest conversation with Stanley on the lawn in the morning, and coupling this with the undemonstrative behaviour of that gentleman towards her daughter, had jumped to the conclusion that Miss Fitzgerald was trying to rob her of her rightful prize. Being possessed of this belief, and the circ.u.mstances being exaggerated from much thinking, her wrath found expression in the offender's presence, and she gratuitously insulted the Irish girl; a dangerous thing to do, as she presently discovered.

"How are you to-day?" asked the Dowager with irritating condescension.

"Excessively trivial, thank you. An English Sunday is so serious, one has to be trivial in self-defence."

"It is different in your country, then?"

"Rather."

"You seemed nervous and absorbed, at lunch."

"No. Simply absorbed with my luncheon. I find that eating is really important in England. It takes one's mind off the climate."

"I'm leaving to-morrow," continued Miss Fitzgerald, for the purpose of breaking an awkward silence, which had already lasted several minutes.

"I think it's the wisest thing you can do," replied the Dowager.