“Yes, Jack, I admit it. I do love her.”
“Then the sooner you realise the actual truth, the better,” declared the other with almost brutal abruptness.
“What truth?”
“My dear fellow, I know—nay, everybody knows—your foolish, quixotic friendship with the girl. You love her, and naturally you believe her to be all that is your ideal. But I assure you she’s not.”
“How in the name of Fate can you know?” asked the diplomat, starting up angrily.
“Well—I’ve been in Spain a lot, remember. I’ve seen and heard things. Why, only a week ago in this very hotel I met old Zeigler, of the German Embassy at Madrid, and he began to discuss her.”
“And what did he say, pray?”
“What everybody else says, that—well, forgive me for saying so—but that you are a fool to continue this dangerous friendship with a woman whose notoriety has now become European.”
“Why should people interest themselves in my affairs?” he cried in angry protest.
“Who knows? It’s the same the world over. But I suppose you know that Beatriz has gone to London with the old Duke?”