“Violet,” I said, “is my promised wife, and I am not going to allow any folly of this kind to come between her and me. I shall insist upon my right to see her, and to clear myself of any accusation which may have been brought against me in my absence.”
“You may insist as much as you please, Captain Fyffe,” Lady Rollinson answered. “I have made up my mind as to what is my duty, and I shall do it, even at the risk of your most serious displeasure.”
“You tell me,” I said, “that she is not here?”
“I have told you already,” she replied, “that she is not here. I have made arrangements for her until the count returns.”
“And am I to understand,” I asked, “that you refuse to allow me to know her address?”
“You may understand that definitely,” said her ladyship.
It was all very disagreeable, but at least there was one ray of comfort in the middle of it.
“Violet knows my address,” I said, “and she is certain to write to me.”
“I might have something to thank you for there, Captain Fyffe,” said the old lady, with an almost comical increase of dignity, “if I had not already taken my precautions. I may tell you, however, that Violet is accompanied by a discreet person, who has my instructions as to the disposal of any letters she may write.”
This amounted to an open declaration of war, and I felt myself on the point of answering so hotly that I was wise in binding myself, for the moment at least, to silence.