"Perhaps it was the appeal in your eyes that called out the answer in mine," said Kate, half believing that she told the truth; for there was a certain magnetic power in the man's passion, which was, at least, sincere. "What help can I give you?"
"First of all, you can answer a few questions. What have I done to change Miss Beverly so completely?"
"Frankly, I don't know. There's something odd going on—something which interests her so much that she can think of nothing else."
"The change began on the day of—our ride. Our last ride! The last of everything worth having, it has been for me. She was angry because I was unwilling to go into—that valley. But afterward, when she learned how intimately I had been associated with the people at the château there, how could she blame me? I suppose she did learn the story?"
"She learned something of it, I know, the night after we rode up the valley. You remember there was a dance? I had left my fan in our sitting-room, and ran up to find it. There was no light in the room, and Virginia and Sir Roger were on the balcony. Of course, I didn't mean to listen, but I couldn't find the fan at first, and I didn't like to startle them by suddenly switching on the light, so I—er—I overheard a little of the conversation. Sir Roger was telling her the story of that unfortunate Maxime Dalahaide—why, Marchese, how you must have loved him! The very mention of his name turns you pale."
"We were like brothers," said Loria in a low voice. "But go on. Did Sir Roger Broom mention me in connection with the story?"
"Yes."
"The scoundrel! That explains all, then. This is your honourable English gentleman, who traduces a man behind his back, to ruin him with the girl they both love!"
"You do Roger Broom injustice. He defended you. Virginia thought that your friendship was not worth much, since you believed Maxime Dalahaide guilty, but Sir Roger assured her you had behaved exceedingly well."
"H'm! One knows what faint praise can do. Did he give her all the details of that loathsome story?"