as he is; take me to Mamma, at once."
"I'll take you to have some tea. Won't that do as well?" and they moved away.
Ten minutes later the Secretary met the Dowager Marchioness of Port Arthur, who bore down on him at once.
"Mr. Stanley, have you seen my daughter?" she demanded. "I'm waiting to go home, and I can't find her anywhere."
"The last I saw of her she was with Lieutenant Kingsland."
"Oh, you have seen her this afternoon, then."
This last remark seemed tempered with a little disapproval.
"I had the pleasure of fifteen minutes' chat with her," continued the Secretary imperturbably. The Marchioness raised her eyebrows.
"At least she said it was fifteen minutes" – he hastened to explain – "it didn't seem as long to me; then Lieutenant Kingsland arrived."
"I knew his mother," she said, "he comes of one of the best families in the land."
Most young men would have been crushed by the evident implication, but Stanley rose buoyantly to the occasion.
"He proposed – " he began.
The Marchioness started.
"To get her a cup of tea," continued the Secretary, placidly finishing his sentence.
"You may escort me to the tea-table," she replied, frigidly, and added: "We leave town to-morrow."
"Yes, I know," said her companion, as they edged their way through the crowd. "I'm invited myself."
"I should think you would find it difficult to attend to the duties of your office, if you make a practice of accepting so many invitations."
"Oh, I haven't accepted," he returned cheerfully.
The Marchioness was manifestly relieved.
They had by this time reached the tea-table. Lady Isabelle was nowhere in sight.
"I do not see my daughter," said her mother severely. "You told me she was here."
"Pardon me, I told you that Lieutenant Kingsland offered to get her a cup of tea."
"Well."
"But they went in the opposite direction."
"I won't detain you any longer, Mr. Stanley." The Dowager's tone was frigid. "If my daughter is in Lieutenant Kingsland's charge, I feel quite safe about her. She could not be in better hands."
The Secretary bowed and went on his way rejoicing, and his way, in this instance, led him to his lodgings.
"I wonder why she is so down on me and so chummy with Kingsland," he thought. "If she'd seen him on my launch on the Thames, she might think twice before entrusting her daughter to his charge. Well, it's none of my business, any more than my affairs are the business of Lady Isabelle."
He was just a little annoyed at the persistency with which his friends joined in crying down a woman, who, whatever her faults might be, possessed infinite fascination, and was, he honestly believed, not half so bad as she was painted. He told himself that he must seek the first opportunity that circumstances gave him at Mrs. Roberts' house-party, to have a serious talk with Miss Fitzgerald and warn her, as gently as he could, of what was being said about her. Then he recollected with a start, that he had decided not to go, that he had promised to write a refusal and – no, that he had not written. He would do so at once. His latch-key was in his hand.
He opened the door. There was his valet, Randell, standing in the hall, but with a look on his face which caused Stanley to question him as to its meaning, before he did anything else.
"Puzzled? I am a bit puzzled. That's a fact, sir," Randell replied to his question. "And it's about that lady," indicating the Secretary's sitting-room with a jerk of his thumb.
"What lady?"
"Why, the lady as come here half an hour ago, with her luggage, and said she was going to stay."
"Randell, are you drunk or dreaming? I know of no lady," cried Stanley, amazed.
"Well, you can see for yourself, sir," replied the valet, throwing open the door.
The Secretary stepped in, and confronted – Madame Darcy.
CHAPTER VII
AN IRATE HUSBAND
"Madame Darcy!" he exclaimed, too astonished not to betray in some measure his emotions. Then following the direction of her eyes, and noting the interrogatory glance, which she threw at Randell, he signed to his valet to leave them together.
"To what have I the honour – " he began abruptly, his voice showing some trace of the irritation he was not quite able to suppress. Surely, he thought, Inez De Costa, large as the liberty of her youth might have been, must know that in England, worse still in London, a lady cannot visit a bachelor's apartments alone, without running great danger of having her actions misconstrued.
She, with true feminine intuition, was none the less keen to realise the awkwardness of the situation, and to suffer more acutely because of the inconvenience to which she was putting him.
"A thousand pardons for this unwarrantable intrusion," she interrupted, "on one who has already loaded me with favours. It is the result of a stupid – a deplorable blunder – for which I shall never forgive myself. But once it had been committed, it seemed better that I should stay and explain. What letter could ever have made suitable apology – have made clear beyond all doubt, as I must make it clear, that until I had passed your threshold I had no suspicion that these were your lodgings, and not the Legation."
Stanley bowed, he could not but believe her, every anguished glance of her eyes, every earnest tone of her impassioned voice, carried conviction. But how had this strange mischance come about.
"You've seen Sanks?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"Ah, that is it," she exclaimed, thankful for the outlet he had suggested. "That good Señor Sanks, he was so kind, he said I had a case, and could be protected from – him. He has written a letter, I forget what he called it, some legal name, requiring my husband to surrender my goods, my money, and I have written him also to send them to your care at the Legation, as he told me. Then I drive here with what I have – I had nothing when I started, but he advanced me a sum," she flushed, "to buy what was needful till my trunks come. He advised me to stay at some private hotel, known only to you and to himself, till my husband has declared his attitude in the case. I make my purchases, I drive, as I suppose, to the Legation, my luggage is unloaded and carried in. I ask if Señor Stanley, if you are here, they say you will be shortly, I dismiss my cab, I enter, then I find it is not the Legation – it is your private apartments."
She paused, awaiting his sentence of displeasure – but his tone was rather that of thoughtful wonder.
"How could Sanks have made the mistake in my address? He knew, must have known, them, both."
"It was my fault, all mine," she broke in hastily. "It was undecided where I should have my things sent. I filled in the address myself, from your card."
"Ah, that's it," said Stanley, beginning to see light. "I remember now, I gave you my private
