"That may be," said Mr. Calhoun. "Perhaps fate, also, that those of kin should cling together."
"How can a mere woman know?" My lady shrugged her very graceful and beautiful shoulders—somewhat mature shoulders now, but still beautiful.
"Dear Señora," said Mr. Calhoun, "there are so many things a woman may not know. For instance, how could she know if her husband should perchance leave the legation to which he was attached and pay a visit to another nation?"
Again the slight flickering of her eyes, but again her hands were outspread in protest.
"How indeed, Señor?"
"What if my young aide here, Mr. Trist, should tell you that he has seen your husband some hundreds of miles away and in conference with a lady supposed to be somewhat friendly towards—"
"Ah, you mean that baroness—!"
So soon had the shaft gone home! Her woman's jealousy had offered a point unexpectedly weak. Calhoun bowed, without a smile upon his face.
"Mr. Pakenham, the British minister, is disposed to be friendly to this same lady. Your husband and a certain officer of the British Navy called upon this same lady last week in Montreal—informally. It is sometimes unfortunate that plans are divulged. To me it seemed only wise and fit that you should not let any of these little personal matters make for us greater complications in these perilous times. I think you understand me, perhaps, Señora Yturrio?"
She gurgled low in her throat at this, any sort of sound, meaning to remain ambiguous. But Calhoun was merciless.