"There's a note for madame this morning. Did I not tell madame that he would write to her?"
Bitterly did I regret my untimely sarcasm. Caroline, white to the lips, tottered where she stood.
"Reginald!" she cried, in a deep, horror-stricken voice that could have been heard throughout the house and in the street outside.
Rushing back, I helped her towards a chair.
"It's all right, Caroline," I said, in dulcet, pleading tones. "Don't mind it, my dear. I am sure that you will be able to explain the--ah--little matter wholly to my satisfaction." Then a thought flashed through my mind that was like a cold douche, and I added: "And don't forget about Jenkins, my dear. Don't encourage him to talk. And, above all, don't believe anything that he may say. He's a most stupendous liar."
With that I hurried back to Caroline's dressing-room just in time to seat myself before Suzanne, panting from haste and excitement, rushed into the room.
"Jenkins, madame," she cried, wringing her hands, "Jenkins is a villain, a rascal, a scoundrel." The girl appeared to have a long list of opprobrious French epithets in her vocabulary.
"Calm yourself, Suzanne," I said, coolly. "You have sent Jenkins to monsieur?"
"Alas, madame, he refused to obey me unless I agreed to kiss him. The horrid, degenerate, unprincipled English beast! Mon Dieu! I could not kiss him, madame."
"Curse the man's devilish impudence!" I exclaimed, while Suzanne stared at me, her pretty mouth wide open in amazement.