“And the man was”—
“Major Ostrander was my friend. I even think I have a better right to call him that than you had.”
Sir James coughed slightly and grasped the lapel of his coat. “Of course; I dare say; I had no idea of this, don't you know, when I spoke.” He looked around him as if to evade a scene. “Ah! suppose we ask the duchess to look at the sketch; I don't think she's seen it.” He began to move in the direction of the library.
“She had better wait,” said Helen quietly.
“For what?”
“Until”—hesitated Helen smilingly.
“Until? I am afraid I don't understand,” said Sir James stiffly, coloring with a slight suspicion.
“Until you have APOLOGIZED.”
“Of course,” said Sir James, with a half-hysteric laugh. “I do. You understand I only repeated a story that was told me, and had no idea of connecting YOU with it. I beg your pardon, I'm sure. I er—er—in fact,” he added suddenly, the embarrassed smile fading from his face as he looked at her fixedly, “I remember now it must have been the concierge of the house, or the opposite one, who told me. He said it was a Russian who carried off that young girl. Of course it was some made-up story.”
“I left Paris with the duchess,” said Helen quietly, “before the war.”