"Diplomats are not allowed to belong to political clubs, in the first place," he said, "and I've been told that well-cut clothes may be met with even at the N. L. C. Besides, if you loved me, it wouldn't really matter."
"Ah! But it might, and that's just the point. Either I love you, the real, imperfect, human you—and nothing else counts—or else I love the Secretary of the —— Legation, in a frock coat or a dress suit, and everything does count. I've got to determine which. My feminine intuition will tell me that in an instant some day, and then I can answer you."
"Let us hope that your feminine intuition will make up its mind to act quickly then, for I must be getting back to London in a few days."
"Why?" she cried. "What have you to do?"
What indeed, when the canny old messenger the night before had told him that this beautiful girl was the main spring of the conspiracy he was here to crush? He did not believe that, but the whole conversation had revolted him—it was not decent somehow to discuss the most serious things of life flippantly. His face showed his feelings.
She was quick to take the cue.
"I doubt if you really know yourself," she continued. "Suppose Madame Darcy were unmarried— I have sometimes thought——"
"Suppose the impossible," he interrupted. "Suppose you should decide to drop her husband——"
"I wonder," she said, ignoring his petulant outburst, "if you would mind my asking you a very frank question?"
"About the Colonel?"