“Now you shall hear the special matter I’ve got bottled up,” said she. “Whom do you think was here late this afternoon?”
“The Emperor of Spain!” he guessed.
“A diplomatic answer!” she mocked. “There is no Emperor of Spain; yet it’s not absolutely wide of the diplomatic truth, for it was Mrs. Buissard—she of the cab, you’ll remember.”
“So!” Harleston exclaimed. “What’s the move now; I fancy she was not paying a social visit.”
“You fancy correctly,” Mrs. Clephane replied. “She came to the apartment unannounced; and when I, chancing to be passing the door when she knocked, opened it, and saw who was without, I almost cried out with surprise. I didn’t cry out, however. On the contrary, remembering diplomatic ways, I most cordially invited her in. To do her justice, Mrs. Buissard, beyond expressing hope that I had experienced no ill effect from the occurrence of the other night, wasted no time in coming to business.”
“‘Mrs. Clephane,’ she said, sitting on the corner of the table just where you are sitting now, ‘I have a proposition to make to you—may I make it?’
“I could see no reason to forbid, so I acquiesced.
“‘And if you cannot accept straightway, will you promise to forget that it was made?’ she asked.
“Again I acquiesced. I admit, I was curious.
“‘We assume,’ said she, ‘that between France and Germany you are indifferent.’