Part 17 (1/2)

”Very wrathy, to put it mildly,” said Collins. ”But I took it meekly; it was in a good cause.”

”And we didn't think it impudent at all,” said Sue. ”Since we had caused all the trouble, it was only fair that we should bear a part of it.

Besides, it wasn't by any means so difficult as Mr. Collins thought it would be.”

”You don't mean that Markeld actually asked you! I didn't believe he'd do that, despite Collins's prophecy. He seemed to have too much of high politeness about him.”

”I was sure he would,” put in Collins, triumphantly. ”He couldn't afford to neglect such an obvious way of making certain, and he's much too clever to have overlooked it.”

”You were quite right, Lord Vernon,” said Susie, very quietly, though there was a dangerous sparkle in her eyes. ”The Prince did not ask us--but a French creature did--a detective--”

”One of his emissaries,” suggested Collins. ”I know him--his name is Tellier.”

”I have no reason to think him an emissary,” retorted Susie, curtly, beginning to dislike the secretary. ”I don't in the least believe the Prince would choose such a one. Dad pointed him out to us in the dining-room last night--a thing of mustachios and eyes--just the kind one sees at the vaudeville, but which I hadn't the least idea existed in real life.--Oh!” she cried, with a little start, ”there he is now, almost near enough to hear!”

Collins swore softly between his teeth, for there, indeed, Monsieur Tellier was, leaning with elaborate negligence against the bal.u.s.trade, apparently intent upon the crowd below. His countenance was quite inscrutable--calm as a summer day--which might mean much or nothing, for he had an immense pride in keeping it always so. Vernon took him in with a quick glance.

”I recognise the type,” he said. ”Can't we go on, Miss Rushford? Collins might form a rear guard. And James is blind, deaf, and dumb toward everything that doesn't concern him,” he added, as she glanced at the stalwart footman behind the chair. ”I'm very anxious to hear the story.

But, of course, if it's asking too much--”

”It isn't,” answered Susie, promptly, and fell in beside the chair, while Collins and her sister followed at a distance of a few paces.

”Now, I think, we can talk without fear of being overheard by Monsieur Tellier. But there is really very little to tell. He sent up his card just before dinner yesterday evening; we sent it back. Then, being persistent and not easily snubbed, he sent up a note which asked 'Are the Misses Rushford acquainted with the gentleman who came to their a.s.sistance this afternoon?' To which the Misses Rushford added a line, 'They are not,' and sent it back to him. It was too absurd. It reminded me of the agony column in the _Herald_.”

”The agony column?”

”Yes--'Will the lady dressed in blue, who took a Broadway car yesterday,'--and so on.”

”Oh,” said Vernon, with a smile. ”Yes--we have the same thing in England.”

”And, after all,” continued Susie, ”our reply was the exact and literal truth--of a kind which, I should imagine, is well known to diplomats.”

The occupant of the chair had quite made up his mind that Susie was the prettier.

”It is their favourite kind,” he a.s.sured her; ”nothing delights them more than to lie while telling the truth.”

”Them? But aren't you a diplomat?”

”There are many who doubt it. Perhaps they will doubt it more than ever before we are out of this tangle. It's awfully good of you and your sister to take an interest in it.”

”But of course we'd take an interest!”

”And keep a secret.”

”Ah--well, perhaps that _is_ a little unusual.”

”Especially after my rudeness,” he added.

”Your rudeness?”

”In running away and hiding behind my paper. What did you think of me?”