“My dear,” said the count, “we have often spoken together of the necessity for the purchase of arms for The Cause.”
“Yes,” she said.
“This gentleman,” the count indicated our visitor, “has arms to sell. We have had news this morning which makes it necessary that we should move at once.”
Her face turned pale for a moment and her lips trembled, but she spoke an affirmatory word only, and waited.
“Mr. Quorn,” said the count, “has fifty thousand stand of arms to dispose of.”
“I suppose this is all right,” interrupted Mr. Quorn, “but I may be allowed to say that I have been in a business of this sort more than once in my time, and I never knew any good come out of the introduction of a petticoat.”
Violet looked at him, and I saw her lips twitch with an impulse towards laughter; but Mr. Quorn obviously misunderstood the emotions he had inspired.
“Do not suppose from that, madame,” he said, with great solemnity, “that I have not the reverence for your sex which rules every well-regulated masculine boozom, but this, if it means anything at all, means secrecy, and that is not your sex's strong point.”
“That is a matter, Mr. Quorn,” returned the count, “with which, as I think, you need not concern yourself.”
“That's all right,” returned Mr. Quorn. “I merely mentioned it. It's no affair of mine.”