Bulstrode interposed: "Don't at least for a few moments entertain any 'buts' and 'onlys'—they are nearly as bad as those magical travelling trunks that would transport me to the United States. It is so—let me say—neutral in this place, I should think I might remain. I don't know why you are here or with whom, nor for how long, or for how deep, but it is singularly perfect to have found you."
His hostess had left her seat behind the table, and taking a chair by the fireside where Bulstrode was sitting, undid the ribbons of her garden hat and let the basket-like object fall on the floor.
"You must promise me, first of all, that you will not say you have seen me. Otherwise I shall leave here to-morrow and nobody shall ever again know where I am."
However her command might conflict with what was in his mind, he was obliged to give her his word. He had no right not to do so.
"And nothing," she said, "must make you break this promise, Mr. Bulstrode. I know how good you are, and how you do all sorts of Quixotic funny things, but in this case please—please——"
"Mind my own business?" he nodded. "I will, Duchess, I will."
She looked at him steadily a moment and seemed satisfied, for she relaxed the tensity of her manner, which was the first Americanism she had displayed, and in her pretty soft drawl asked him, with less perfunctory interest than her words implied: "You are at Westboro'?"
"Yes, since the twenty-fifth."
"And you're staying on?"
"I seem to be more or less of a fixture—until the holidays, I expect."