“I was determined to see you face to face,” she said in a rapid whisper. “I have something of the greatest gravity that is for your ear alone. You would step between the Queen and disaster?”
“I have done so before now,” said the Duke. “Heaven may be equally kind to me again. Come with me in my coach now; it is already dusk.”
“No—no—that would be fatal to both of us,” she whispered. “We are surrounded by enemies—spies—purveyors of treason—the very life of the Queen is in danger.”
“You speak sincerely,” said the Duke. “Come to my house after the play.”
“Impossible! Your Grace little knows in what quarter the danger lies. I lit upon it by accident myself. Let me see. Ah, I have it: Sir Godfrey's painting room at a quarter after four on Thursday—this is Tuesday—yes, in secret—and in the mean time, not a word to living man or woman—not even Her Grace.”
“Why not take your seat in my coach; it has curtains.”
“Impossible! Ah, trust me to know wherein lieth safety and prudence. Hasten back. Good Sir Godfrey must not suspect.”
“Heavens! You do not say that he is—”
“He is true; but he talks. We need those who are dumb. Not a word in human ear.”
He looked into her face—eagerly—searchingly. She never winced. He pressed her hand and returned to the studio.