“I may be a friend of Mrs. Clephane? Or I may regard myself as a trustee for the safe delivery of the letter.”
“A volunteer?”
“If you so have it!” he smiled.
She beat a tattoo with her slender, nervous fingers, looking at him in mild surprise, and some disapproval.
“Since when does sentiment enter the game?” she asked.
“Sentiment?” he inflected. “I wasn’t aware of its entry.”
She shrugged mockingly. “Beware, old friend and enemy! You’re losing your cleverness. Mrs. Clephane is very charming and alluring, but remember, Guy, that a charming woman has no place in the diplomatic game—save to delude the enemy. She seems to be winning with you—who, I thought, was above all our wiles and blandishments. Oh, do not smile, sir—I recognize the symptoms; I’ve played the innocent and the beauty in distress once or twice myself. It’s all in our game—but I’m shockingly amazed to see it catch so experienced a bird as Guy Harleston.”
“I’m greatly obliged, Madeline, for your shocking amazement,” Harleston chuckled. “Meanwhile, and returning to the letter; who has the better title to possession, Mrs. Clephane or yourself?”
“As I remarked before, either of us has a better title to the letter than yourself. Also—I have heard you say it many times, and it is an accepted rule in the diplomatic game—never meddle in what does not concern you; never help to pull another’s chestnuts out of the fire.”
“My dear lady, you are perfectly right! I subscribe unreservedly to the rule, and try to follow it; but you have overlooked another rule—the most vital of the code.”