“Between you and me,” she murmured, “such punctiliousness is scarcely necessary—is it?”
He withstood the attack of those wonderful eyes lifted swiftly to his, and answered her gravely.
“You are Lady Ruth’s friend,” he remarked. “Probably, therefore, she will tell you all about it.”
The Marchioness laughed softly, yet with something less than mirth.
“Friends,” she exclaimed, “Lady Ruth and I? There was never a woman in this world who was less my friend—especially now!”
He asked for no explanation of her last words, but in a moment or two she vouchsafed it. She leaned a little forward, her eyes flashed softly through the semi-darkness.
“Lady Ruth is afraid,” she said quietly, “that I might take you away from her.”
“My dear lady,” he protested, “the slight friendship between Lady Ruth and myself is not of the nature to engender such a fear.”
She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. Her hands were toying with the rope of pearls which hung from her neck. She bent over them, as though examining the color of the stones.
“How long have you known Ruth?” she asked quietly.