“I do. It’s fascinating—and I leave the disagreeable portion to others, when it has to do with those not of the profession.”
“And when it has to do with those of the profession?”
“Then it’s all in the game, and everything goes to win—because we all know what to expect and what to guard against. No one believes or trusts the enemy; and, as I said, everyone is the enemy but those who are arrayed with us.”
“So instead of being the finest profession in the world—and the most aristocratic,” Mrs. Clephane reflected, “a diplomat is, in truth, simply a false-pretence artist of an especially refined and dangerous type, who deals with the affairs of nations instead of the affairs of an individual.”
“Pretty much,” he admitted. “Diplomacy is all bluff, bluster, buncombe, and bullying; the degrees of refinement of the aforesaid bluff, et cetera, depending on the occasions, and the particular parties involved in the particular business.”
“Again I’m well content to be simply an ordinary woman, whose chief delight and occupation is clothes and the wearing of clothes.”
“You’re a success at your occupation,” Harleston replied.
“Some there are who would not agree with you,” she replied. “However, we are straying from the question before us, which is: what shall I do about informing the Marquis d’Hausonville? Will you go with me?”
“My going with you would only complicate matters for you. The Marquis would instantly want to know what such a move on my part meant. I’m known to be in the secret service of the United States, you must remember. Furthermore your tale will accuse me of the taking of the letter—and you see the merry mess which follows. I cannot return the letter—it’s in possession of the State Department. I’m far transgressing my duty by disclosing anything as to the letter. Indeed, I’m liable to be disciplined most drastically, even imprisoned, should it chance that the United States was involved.”
“You’ve told me nothing more than you’ve already told the Spencer crowd,” she objected.