“Perhaps it would be better,” the man said, “if I spoke to madame alone.”
“Say what you have to say,” his mistress commanded. “I presume you have an answer from Miss Pleyel?”
The man who was a young and by no means ill-looking fellow, was evidently in considerable distress. “It is not my fault, Madame la Baronne,” he said, with an appealing glance at me, “but Miss Pleyel's message is that she declines to meet Captain Fyffe under any circumstances.”
“That will do,” said his mistress. “You can go.”
The man retired once more. I could see that the baroness was disappointed, but she made the best of the circumstances.
“I am not surprised,” she said, with as fine an expression of scorn as she could command.
“Nor am I,” I responded. “It is natural that Miss Pleyel should not wish to meet one who knew her fifteen years ago.”
“It is like a man and a soldier,” she said, “to presume upon the natural delicacy of a lady under such circumstances. She shrinks from you and fears you. She dare not encounter you even in the presence of so dear a friend as I am. But I do not shrink from you, Captain Fyffe, and I am not afraid of you. I tell you once more that I think your coming here is, all things considered, as pretty a piece of audacity as I can remember.”
“Madame,” I answered, “I came here with a purpose. When I have fulfilled that purpose I will relieve you of my presence.”
“Go on,” she interjected, contemptuously.