"Oh, don't go! I need you so. Please stay and help me out of a most embarrassing situation."
"What can I do for you?"
"Well, you see it is a most awkward predicament. My chaperon has been taken suddenly ill at the last moment, and is unable to be present," he began, plunging boldly into his subject. "As I am entertaining two young ladies at dinner to-night, you will understand my unfortunate situation. Will you honour me by accepting the vacant place at the head of my table, as my chaperon?"
Madame Darcy said nothing for a moment, but looked intently at the Secretary.
"Who form your party, Mr. Stanley?" she asked presently.
"Do not call me Mr. Stanley, Inez."
"It is better—at least for the present."
"As you wish, Madame Darcy," he acquiesced stiffly.
"I cannot explain now—but believe me it is wiser. And your party consists of—?"
"Lady Isabelle McLane, daughter of the Dowager Marchioness of Port Arthur, Miss Fitzgerald, a niece of Lord Axminster, Lieutenant Kingsland, of the Royal Navy, and Lionel Kent-Lauriston—well, everybody knows him."