For a few moments he remained silent.
“He is the man who, with Dubard, was the cause of my downfall,” he responded, although from his hesitating tone she felt assured that those words were not what he had first intended to utter.
“And Dubard?” she asked, her face now very grave.
“What use is it to discuss either of them?” he said bitterly. “I am their victim—that is all.”
“But with what motive?” she asked, bewildered at this revelation. “What connection can Mr Macbean possibly have with these false scandalous charges against you?”
“Ah! the motive is more than I can tell,” he declared. “I can only surmise it.”
“But there surely must be some motive!” she remarked, at the same time recollecting what she had learnt, that the information furnished by Dubard formed the basis of the charges intended to be levelled by the Socialists against her father.
“I have never had an opportunity of ascertaining it,” he said. “I would, however, desire to warn you most strongly against that man Macbean.”
Mary remained silent. What he had said puzzled and mystified her. His words were not prompted by motives of jealousy. That was impossible, for he was unaware of Macbean’s presence in Rome. As far as she knew, the two men had never been acquainted—the one an officer in garrison in the Alps, and the other living in far-off London. She endeavoured to induce him to speak more plainly, but it was evident that her acknowledgment that Macbean was her friend prevented him from opening his mind concerning him.
All her sympathies being with the imprisoned man, she felt a distinct suspicion arising within her concerning the young Englishman.—She wondered whether after all he had really schemed to obtain an appointment in the Ministry; if his present position was only in furtherance of some sinister object?