The thought flashed into John's mind—was Beecher Monmouth, M.P., also a traitor? He did not know. But he was prepared to risk a good deal to find out.
Once more he turned his attention to the woman before him.
"It was rather weak of me," he said, "to act the way I did."
"It was as good as a melodrama," replied she. "You said you were ruined, and swore you'd end everything! I forget whether it was to be the river or in some less pleasant manner. Called yourself a traitor——"
"Traitor!" repeated John—he wanted to know more of this.
"Melodrama again," responded Mrs. Beecher Monmouth. "However, you calmed yourself in the end. You became your own delightful, foolish self again."
"Thanks," said John, and for the life of him he could not help saying aloud, "and you were able to twist me round your pretty fingers!"
She looked at him with one of her quick looks.
"Now, that is delightful of you to say pretty things to me. Do you know," she continued, leaning towards him, "you have improved immensely—you are quite changed! Before you really came to us," she adopted a note of seriousness, "you were really too dreadful for words. You raved against the army, that had treated you so abominably, and yet would not throw in your lot with us. Oh, you were very difficult, mon ami!"
"And now?" inquired John.