“Because you are cultured and possess good taste. That is exactly what leads to romance.”
“I have the good taste to choose Dick as a friend, I suppose you mean?” she asked, with an intention to irritate me.
“Ah, I did not exactly say that.”
“But you meant it, nevertheless. You know you did, Uncle Colin.”
I did not reply for a few moments. I was recalling what Dmitri had told me—that strange allegation of his that this young man, Richard Drury, was an enigma, an adventurer. He had told me that he was no fit companion for her, and yet when pressed he apparently could give no plain reason. He had been unable to discover much concerning the young fellow—probably because of his failure it seemed he had become convinced that the object of his inquiry was an adventurer.
Suddenly rising, I stood before her, and placing my hand upon her shoulder, said:
“I came here this morning to speak to you very seriously, Natalia. Can you really be serious for once?”
“I’m always serious,” she replied. “Well—another lecture?”
“No, not a lecture, you incorrigible little flirt. I want to ask you a plain question. Please answer me, for a great deal—a very great deal—depends upon it. Are you aware of what was contained in those letters which Madame de Rosen gave you for safe-keeping?”
“I have long ago assured you that I am. Why do you ask again?”