She bit her lip till the blood came.
“Y—es, she is,” she assented, as if the admission cost her an agony. “Oh! yes. And he is going! I thought he would have stayed the night!”
“And I didn’t,” said the marquis, grimly. “He is a Stoyle, and its not our way to take the loss of our mistresses meekly.”
“Did you give him the letter?” she asked.
The marquis uttered an exclamation.
“Phew!” he said, with a laugh. “I knew there was something I should forget. I told you and Churchill that you’d better play the game yourselves, and that I should bungle it. You see, I am so unused to intrigues of this description,” and the great intriguer of his generation smiled grimly.
“Give it to me,” said Lady Grace, as if struck by a sudden idea.
The marquis pointed to a cabinet.
“It’s there somewhere,” he said, indolently.
Lady Grace opened the door sharply.