"No. It isn't fair. I have no right to pry into her affairs. I'm—I'm desperately concerned, that's all. It's my only excuse."
"It isn't strange that she should be in love, is it?"
"But I—I don't see who the deuce she can have found over here to—to fall in love with," he floundered.
"There are millions of good, fine Americans, my friend. Young Smith-Parvis is one of the exceptions."
"He isn't an American," said Lord Temple, savagely. "Don't insult America by mentioning his name in—"
"Please, please! Be careful not to knock over the lamp, dear boy. It's Florentine, and Count Antonio says it came from some dreadful sixteenth-century woman's bedroom, price two hundred guineas net. She's afraid she's being watched."
"She? Oh, you mean Lady Jane?"
"Certainly. The other woman has been dead for centuries. Jane thinks it isn't safe for her to come here for a little while. There's no telling what the wretch may stoop to, you see."
Lord Temple squared his shoulders. "I don't see how you can be so cheerful about it," he said icily. "I fear it isn't worth while to ask the favour I came to—er—to ask of you tonight."
"Don't be silly. Tell me what I can do for you."
"It isn't for me. It's for her. I came early to-night so that we could talk it all over before any one else arrived. I've slept precious little the last few nights, Marchioness." His brow was furrowed as with pain. "In the first place, you will agree that she cannot remain in that house up there. That's settled."
