CHAPTER XI
AFTER DINNER
When the Secretary entered the drawing-room he received a distinct shock of surprise.
The one person in the party unknown to him was Mr. Riddle. Yet those high cheek-bones, that prominent nose between the deep-set, restless eyes, peering out under their shaggy eyebrows, were strangely familiar. He had seen them once before when they and their owner occupied a cab together with his fair dinner partner. He was on the point of saying so to her, but restrained himself, he hardly knew why, in deference, perhaps, to his diplomatic training, which forbade him ever to say anything unnecessary.
Fate placed him next to the Dowager Marchioness, who was manifestly displeased at his presence, and lost no time in making him feel thoroughly uncomfortable.
"I had always supposed," she began, before he was fairly seated at the table, "that at this season of the year there was a great deal of activity in the diplomatic world."
"There is," answered Stanley hastily, scenting danger, and anxious to turn the conversation from his own affairs. "Most countries have a little leisure, and, like Satan, expend the time in making and finding mischief."
"That is, of course, a matter of which I am no judge, Mr. Stanley, but I should have supposed, under the circumstances, you would naturally be much occupied."
"We are," he replied, a trifle flippantly. Flippancy, he had noticed, was the one thing that drove the Marchioness to the verge of desperation. "My Minister and my colleagues are working like draught-horses."
"While you——" began her Ladyship.