“Nor of the Duchess of Lotzen?”
“Great Heavens!” she cried. “Is she the Duchess of Lotzen?”
“The same,” Harleston nodded.
“H-u-m! I can understand now a little of her—No wonder I felt my helplessness before her polished poise!”
“Nonsense!” he smiled.
“Why should such an accomplished—diplomat want to injure me with you?” she asked.
“She was not seeking to injure you in the sense that you imply,” he returned. “Her purpose was to put you in the same class as herself, so that I should trust you no more than I do her; to make you appear an emissary of France, in its secret service, playing the game of ignorance and inexperience for its present purpose. For you, as a personality she does not care a fig. To her you are but one of the pieces, to be moved or threatened as her purpose dictates. In the diplomatic game, my lady, we know only one side—all other sides are the enemy; and nothing, not even a woman’s reputation, is permitted to stand for an instant in the way of attaining our end.”
“Therefore a good woman—or one who would forget the past—has no earthly business to become involved in the game,” Mrs. Clephane returned. “I shall get out of it the instant this matter of the letter is completed—and stay out thereafter. Even friendship won’t lure me to it. Never again, Mr. Harleston, never again for mine!”
“I wish you would let it end right now,” he urged.
“That wouldn’t be the part of a good sport, nor would it be just to Madame Durrand. She trusts me.”