"His castle, perhaps, is in the air?" Arnold inquired.
"By no means," Lady Blennington assured him.
"On the contrary, it is very much upon the rocks. Some little island near Minorca, I believe. They say that Mr. Weatherley was wrecked there and Sabatini locked him up in a dungeon and refused to let him go until he promised to marry his sister."
"There are a good many men in the world, I should think," Arnold murmured, "who would like to be locked up on similar conditions."
She looked at him with a queer little smile.
"I suppose it is inevitable," she declared. "You will have to go through it, too. She certainly is one of the loveliest women I ever saw. I suppose you are already convinced that she is entirely adorable?"
"She has been very kind to me," Arnold replied.
"She would be," Lady Blennington remarked, dryly. "Look at her husband. The poor man ought to have known better than to have married her, of course, but do you think that he looks even reasonably happy?"
Arnold was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable. He was conscious of a strong desire not to discuss his hostess. Yet his curiosity was immense. He asked one question.
"Tell me," he said, "if she came from this little island in the Mediterranean, why does she speak English so perfectly?"