"I say," remarked that officer, who did not relish the turn which the conversation had taken, "tell me something about your country."
"Do you desire a complete geographical and political disquisition?" asked the Secretary, laughing.
"Hardly. What's it like?"
"The climate and Government of my country are both tropical."
"I suppose you mean intense, and subject to violent changes."
The Secretary looked out of the window at the most uninteresting view of the Thames, saying:
"I think we're going to have a thunderstorm."
"Am I to take that remark in a political sense?" inquired the Lieutenant.
"I don't believe I've told you," said his host abruptly, discontinuing an inopportune subject, "that I'm a South American only by force of circumstances. My parents were born in the States."
"My dear fellow," Kingsland hastened to assure him, "I never had the least intention of prying into your affairs, domestic or diplomatic. I was merely wondering if the country you represent brought forth any staple products, which would yield a profitable return to foreign investment?"
The Secretary mentioned one – which was said to be connected prominently with the treaty which was the subject of his recent visit to the Foreign Office – and so was naturally uppermost in his mind – "but," he added, "that staple is practically a monopoly, controlled by a firm of manufacturers, whose headquarters are in London, and, unless they fail, the outside public would have little chance in the same field."
"I suppose their failure is hardly likely."
"I'm not so sure of that – it all depends on a treaty now pending between your Government and mine. Frankly, if I had any money to invest, I would not expend it in that direction."
"Thank you. By the way, if your land doesn't produce good investments, it certainly brings forth beautiful women. What wonderful beauty that Madame Darcy has, who dined with us last night."
"Our fathers are old friends," replied Stanley.
"Ah, what a pity," said the Lieutenant.
"I don't understand."
"That she should not have married you, I mean, instead of that bounder Darcy. I have heard his name more than once in official circles, and there's precious little to be said in his favour. But his wife – ah, there's a woman any man might be proud to marry. Such beauty, such refinement, so much reserve. Rather a contrast to our fascinating Belle, eh?"
"I have the greatest respect for Miss Fitzgerald," said the Secretary stiffly.
"Yes, but not of the marriageable quality," said the Lieutenant, speaking ex cathedra as one who had also been in the fair Irish girl's train. "Oh no, my dear fellow, a woman of Madame Darcy's type is the woman for you. The Fitzgerald, believe me, would break a man's heart or his bank account, in no time."
"Look here," said Stanley shortly, "I don't like that sort of thing."
"Don't turn nasty, old chap," said Kingsland. "I'm only speaking for your good. I'd be the last man to run down a woman. I love the whole sex, and the little Fitzgerald is no end jolly, to play with, but to marry – ! By the way, have you heard of her latest exploit. The town's ringing with it. She – "
"Thanks, I'd rather not hear it," replied the Secretary, who just now was trying to forget some phases of her nature.
"By Jove!" broke in the Lieutenant – "speaking of angels – there she is now."
"What, down in this section of the city?"
"Yes, in a hansom cab."
"An angel in a hansom!" cried the Secretary, "that's certainly a combination worth seeing," and rising, he stepped to the window, followed by Kingsland. The two men were just in time to see the lady in question dash by along the Embankment, and to note that she was not alone. Indeed, even the fleeting glimpse which they caught of her companion was sufficiently startling to engrave his likeness indelibly on their minds.
He was an oldish man, of say sixty, clad in a nondescript grey suit of no distinguishable style or date, surmounted by a soft felt hat of the type which distinguished Americans are said to affect in London, while his high cheek bones and prominent nose might have given him credit for having Indian blood in his veins, had not his dead white skin belied the charge. He was possessed, moreover, of huge bushy brows, beneath which a ferret's keen eyes peeped out, and were never for an instant still.
"Gad!" exclaimed the Lieutenant, "this promises to be the strangest escapade of all."
"Who the devil is he?" demanded Stanley, facing around, with almost an accusing note in his voice.
The Lieutenant returned his glance squarely.
"Why, he's the man who gave her – I mean, who was talking to her last night at the Hyde Park Club."
"Last night? I don't remember seeing him."
"It was when you were waltzing up and down stairs in search of a chaperon."
"Who is he?"
"Don't know, I'm sure," replied the Lieutenant brusquely, lighting a cigarette, and thrusting his hands in his trousers' pockets.
"But you must have some idea?"
"Never saw him before last night, I assure you. Must be off now, old chap. Late for my appointment already. Thanks awfully for the lunch. See you at Lady Rainsford's tea this afternoon? Yes. All right. Hansom!"
And he was gone.
CHAPTER IV
A LADY IN DISTRESS
After lunch the Secretary returned to the Legation and made out his report to his Minister, concerning the treaty. He had looked up the word "parlous" in the dictionary, and found that it meant, "whimsical, tricky," – a sinister interpretation he felt, when connected with anything diplomatic; moreover the Foreign Office was distressingly uninformed on the subject, another reason for suspicion. Yet, as far as he knew – only the mere formalities of settlement remained, the ratification by vote of his home Government – the exchange of protocols – and behold it was accomplished – much to the credit of his Minister and the satisfaction of all concerned. Doubtless the visit was nothing more than a bit of routine work, and his private affairs seeming for the time more important, he dismissed it from his mind as not worthy of serious consideration and compiled an elaborate report of three pages, not forgetting to mention the arrival of the Chief Clerk's lunch, as matter which might legitimately be used to fill up space. This done, he was about to leave the office in order to meet his appointment with Kent-Lauriston, when John, the genial functionary of the Legation, beamed upon him from the door, presenting him a visiting card, and informing him that a lady was waiting in the ante-room.
"An' she's that 'ansome, sir, it would do your eyes good to see 'er."
The Secretary answered somewhat testily that his eyes were in excellent condition as it was, and that the lady did not deserve to be seen at all for coming so much after office-hours, and delaying him just as he was about to keep an appointment – then his eyes happened to fall on the card and his tone changed at once.
"Madame Darcy!" he exclaimed. "Why, what can have brought her to see me! – John, show the lady in at once, and – say my time is quite at her service."
A glance at his fair chaperon of the night before, as she entered the room, told him that she was in great trouble, and he sprang forward to take both her hands in his, with a warmth of greeting which he would have found it hard to justify, except on an occasion of such evident sorrow.
"Inez – Madame Darcy," he said, leading her to his most comfortable arm-chair – "this is indeed a pleasure – but do not tell me that you are