"I had the best excuse in London for my madness, Aileen," he said with the wistful little laugh that had gone straight to many a woman's heart. Her eye flashed and her bosom heaved. The pure girl-heart read him like an open book. "And are you thinking me so mean a thing as still to care for your honeyed words? Believe me, there iss no viper on the braes of Raasay more detestable to me than you." I looked to see him show anger, but he nursed his silk-clad ankle with the same insolent languor. He might have been a priest after the confessional for all the expression his face wore. "I like you angry, Aileen. Faith, 'tis worth being the object of your rage to see you stamp that pretty foot and clench those little hands I love to kiss. But Ecod! Montagu, the hour grows late. The lady will lose her beauty sleep. Shall you and I go down-stairs and arrange for a conveyance?" He bowed low and kissed his fingers to the girl. Then he led the way out of the room, fine and gallant and debonair, a villain every inch of him. "Will you be leaving me?" the girl cried with parted lips. "Not for long," I told her. "Do not fear. I shall have you out of here in a jiff," and with that I followed at his heels. Sir Robert Volney led the way down the corridor to a small room in the west wing, where flaring, half-burnt candles guttering in their sconces drove back the darkness. He leaned against the mantel and looked long at me out of half-closed eyes. "May I ask to what is due the honour of your presence to-night?" he drawled at last. "Certainly." "Well?" "I have said you may ask," I fleered rudely. "But for me-- Gad's life! I am not in the witness box." He took his snuff mull from his waistcoat pocket and offered it me, then took a pinch and brushed from his satin coat imaginary grains with prodigious care. "You are perhaps not aware that I have the right to ask. It chances that this is my house." "Indeed! And the lady we have just left----?" "----Is, pardon me, none of your concern." "Ah! I'm not so sure of that." "Faith then, you'll do well to make sure." "And--er--Mistress Antoinette Westerleigh?" "Quite another matter! You're out of court again, Mr. Montagu." "Egad, I enter an exception. The lady we have just left is of another mind in the affair. She is the court of last resort, and, I believe, not complaisant to your suit." "She will change her mind," he said coolly. "I trust so renowned a gallant as Sir Robert would not use force." "Lard, no! She is a woman and therefore to be won. But I would advise you to dismiss the lady from your mind. 'Ware women, Mr. Montagu! You will sleep easier." "In faith, a curious coincidence! I was about to tender you the same advice, Sir Robert," I told him lightly. "You will forget the existence of such a lady if you are wise?" "Wisdom comes with age. I am for none of it." "Yet you will do well to remember your business and forget mine."