"Your husband?" she said slowly, looking Madame Darcy straight in the face. "Your husband? No, I have never met your husband. I do not know him."
Lieutenant Kingsland, seeing the attention of the company diverted from his direction, half closed his eyes, and softly drew in his breath. Just then the orchestra made an hejira to the drawing-room, and the little party hastened to follow in its footsteps, in search of more music, liqueurs, coffee, cigarettes, and the most comfortable corner.
"My dear Jim," expostulated his guest of honour, half an hour later, "there is not a drop of green Chartreuse, and you know I never drink the yellow. Do be a good boy and run over to the dining-room, and persuade the steward to give us some."
As he rose and left them, obedient to the Irish girl's request, she leaned over to Kingsland, who was seated next her, and handing him a square envelope, said quietly, and in a low voice:—
"I want this given to Colonel Darcy before Stanley returns—his party is still in the dining-room. Don't let our crowd see you take it."
"Oh, I say," he expostulated, inspecting the missive which was blank and undirected, "it's a risky thing to do, especially in the face of the whopper you just told his wife about not knowing him."
"I had to, 'Dottie'—I had indeed—she's so jealous she would tear the eyes out of any woman who ventured to speak to him."
"I won't do anything for you if you call me 'Dottie.' You know I hate it."
"Well, Jack then—dear Jack—do it to please me and don't stand there talking, Stanley may return any minute."
"All right, I'll go."