Mad jealousy flashed into the woman's eyes. "He loves her?" she asked, and her voice was hoarse.
"Of course he does. Will you let him have her?"
"He cannot. Is she not betrothed to that soldier fellow?"
"What if she is? Was there not love in her eyes as she came here to-night? Would she have come merely for Platonic friendship? Olga, if you do not act quickly, you will have lost him—lost him for ever."
"But I have lost him!" she almost wailed.
"You have not, I tell you. Go to her to-night. Tell her that Faversham is not the man she thinks he is. Tell her—but I need not instruct you as to that. You know what to say. Then when he goes to her to explain, as he will go, she will drive him from her, Puritan fool as she is, with loathing and scorn! After that your turn will come again."
For some time they talked, she protesting, he explaining, threatening, cajoling, promising, and at length he overcame. With a look of determination in her eyes, she left her flat, and drove to the hotel where Romanoff told her that Hugh Stanmore and Beatrice were staying.
Was Miss Beatrice Stanmore in the hotel? she asked when she entered the vestibule.
Yes, she was informed, Miss Stanmore had returned with her grandfather only half an hour before.
She took one of her visiting cards and wrote on it hastily.