"Pray be explicit."
"Glengourlie—a little man in the Scots Guards. Eldest son of the Marquis of Stratheerie; ten thousand a year and the best half of Inverness-shire."
Mrs. Saunders received this startling information with composure.
"She'll make a handsome peeress," was her comment.
"What about George Trafford?" asked her husband.
"Grimland is a country of short memories and swift changes," said Mrs. Saunders. "It converted you from a blasé bachelor to a happy husband; and it has converted George Trafford from a broken-hearted desperado to a lover of an usurping queen."
"Do you believe Von Hügelweiler's tale?" asked Saunders in surprise.
"Yes, and no; I believe George has undoubtedly been fascinated by Gloria. With her beauty, high spirit, and fearless temperament, she was bound to attract him. Fresh from a recent disappointment—and lacking as he is at all times in all sense of proportion—he is quite capable of demanding her hand in marriage. But Gloria,—though she would like him well enough as a friend,—would not dream of stultifying herself by marrying a plain American; still less would she stoop to the depths Von Hügelweiler hinted at."
"I am sorry about it all," said Saunders. "Nervy, with all his faults, is a lovable sort of scoundrel, and he had a pretty severe knock over l'affaire Angela. If Gloria is fooling him for her own purposes—as seems more than certain—it will leave him, spiritually and mentally, in a condition of pulp."
"You mean——"