"I have done it now," said the Duchess, "God knows what will be the consequence, but I have at least delivered my soul."
She had scarcely uttered the words before Albert Fanning strode back into the room. He was not the least awkward now, he looked quite manly and dignified.
"Will you oblige me," he said, looking straight at the Duchess, "by giving me the address of Mr. James Randolph?"
"You are not going to do anything," I cried, springing up, "oh, you are not going to say anything? This has been forced out of me, and I have not mentioned any one's name."
"I will do nothing to hurt you, dear," he said very gently, and he looked at me again, and putting his hand on mine forced me quietly back into my seat. Then he turned to the Duchess, waiting for her to give him what he required.
Her face was very white, and her lips tremulous. She tore a sheet out of her little gold-mounted note-book, which always hung at her side, scribbled a few words on it, and handed it to him.
"I am dreadfully sorry to hurt you, you must believe that," she said.
He did not make any response. He bowed to her and then left the room.
"What does it mean? This is terrible," I cried.
The Duchess looked at me.