“But I say it is. You shall not make such a mistake. Mr. Dundas cares nothing for me, except as a friend. He never did, though we flirted a little a year ago, to amuse ourselves. Now, I am engaged to marry a man whom I worship. I would gladly die for him. Ivor Dundas knows that, and is glad. But the other man is jealous. He wouldn’t understand—he would want to kill me and himself and Ivor Dundas, if he knew that Ivor was in my house last night. He was there too, and I lied to him about Ivor. How could I expect him to believe the real truth now? He is a man. But you will believe, because you are a woman, like myself, and I think the woman Ivor Dundas loves.”
Her beautiful eyes brightened. “He told you—that?”
“He told me he loved a girl, and was afraid that he would lose her because of the business which brought him to me. You seem to have been as unreasonable with him, as Ra—as the man I love could be with me. Poor Ivor! Last night was not the first time that he sacrificed himself for chivalry and honour. Yet you blame me! Look to yourself, Miss Forrest.”
“I—I don’t blame you,” she stammered, a sob in her voice. “Only I beg you to save him, from gratitude, if not from love.”
“It’s true I owe him a debt of gratitude, deeper than you know,” I answered. “He is worth trusting—worth saving, at the expense of almost any sacrifice. But I can’t sacrifice the man I love for him.”
She looked thoughtful. “You say the man you were engaged to was at your house while Ivor was there?”
“Yes. He came then. I hid Ivor, and I lied.”
“He suspected that someone was with you? He stood watching, outside your gate?”
“He confessed that, when I’d made him repent his jealousy. Why do you ask? You saw him?”
“I think so. Tell me, Mademoiselle de Renzie, did he lose anything of value near your house?”