She started and caught her breath. "Mr. Chase? He—he hasn't said anything about it," she responded lamely. "He's—he's not that sort,"
"Ah," reflected Deppingham, "he is a gentleman?"
Genevra flushed. "Yes, I'm sure he is."
"I say, Genevra," he said, looking straight into her rebellious eyes, "you're in love with Chase. Why don't you marry him?"
"You—you are really delirious, Deppy," she cried. "The fever has----"
"He's good enough for any one—even you," went on his lordship coolly.
"He may have a wife," said she, collecting her wits with rare swiftness. "Who knows? Don't be silly, Deppy."
"Rubbish! Haven't you stuffed Aggie and me full of the things you found out concerning him before he left Thorberg—and afterward? The letters from the Ambassador's wife and the glowing things your St. Petersburg friends have to say of him, eh? He comes to us well recommended by no other than the Princess Genevra, a most discriminating person. Besides, he'd give his head to marry you—having already lost it."
"You are very amusing, Deppy, when you try to be clever. Is there a clause in that silly old will compelling me to marry any one?"
"Of course not, my dear Princess; but I fancy you've got a will of your own. Where there's a will, there's a way. You'd marry him to-morrow if—if----"