Kent-Lauriston heard him out with great interest, and after drawing a long breath, at the close of his recital, remarked:—
"I think I shall be fully repaid for any inconvenience to which I've put myself on your account. This whole affair is most interesting, and, believe me, there's more in it than appears on the surface."
"I feel the same way myself," replied the Secretary; "but let us hear your views on the subject."
"First," replied his friend, "you must assure me of how you yourself stand. Are you still in your unregenerate state, or have you yet begun to see the fruits of your folly?"
The young diplomat was silent for a long time, but finally he said, looking up into Kent-Lauriston's face with an almost appealing glance:
"I'm afraid you would think me awfully caddish if I told you the truth about it."
"About the state of your affections for Miss Fitzgerald, you mean?"
"Yes."
"Of course, I shouldn't think you justified in making a public declaration of a change of sentiment, because it might seem to reflect on the lady, but in my case it's very different. Having spoken so frankly and freely on the subject already, I might almost say that you owe it to me to continue to do so. Certainly I've given you no cause for reticence by anything I've done, and, as certainly, you must confide fully in me if you wish my help in the future."
"Well, then, the truth is," he blurted out, "that you were right and I was wrong, and I've found it out too late."