"Yes, and I will do it, my angel. Who but yourself should share my rank with me? I will make you my viscountess, Faustina."
"How can you do that, even if you wished to do so? She is your viscountess."
"Yes, for a little while; and for a little while only. Until she has served the purpose for which I married her—and no longer," said the viscount.
"Ah! what do you mean?" There was breathless eagerness and ruthless cruelty in the tone and manner in which the woman put this question.
The viscount did not immediately reply.
And Claudia, her blood curdling with horror at what seemed plainly a design against her life, left her position near the door of the boudoir and concealed herself behind the crimson satin hangings; feeling fully justified in becoming an eavesdropper upon conversation that concerned her safety.
"What do you mean?" again whispered the woman, with restrained vehemence.
"'Be innocent of the knowledge, dearest chuck, 'till you approve the deed,'" quoted Lord Vincent.
"But trust me; I am ready to aid you in the deed, and to share with you the danger it must bring, for I love you, Malcolm, I love you! Confide in me! Tell me what you mean," she whispered in low, deep, vehement tones.
"I mean—not what you imagine, Faustina. Turn your face away. Those eyes of yours make my blood run cold. No! We English are not quite so ready with bowl and dagger as you Italians seem to be. We like to keep within bounds."