“Why did you—butt in?” she asked. “Why didn’t you let the cab, and the letter, and well enough alone?”
“It was so mysterious; and so full of possibilities,” he smiled. “And when I did it, I didn’t know that you were interested.”
“And it would have made you all the more prying if you had known,” she retorted.
“Possibly! I’ve never yet heard that personal feelings entered into the diplomatic secret service—and no more have you, my lady.”
“Personal feelings!” she smiled, and shrugged his answer aside. “When did you first know that I was concerned in this affair?”
“When I saw you in the Chateau,” he replied—there was no obligation on him to mention the photograph.
“Which was?” she asked.
“The evening I met you in Peacock Alley. How long then had you been here?”
“Two days!”
“And not a word to me?”