"Am I really to say no more of yesterday?" he said, looking at her nervously. Her flush, her gesture, appealed to him. "Do you know what I had before me--that day--when you came in?" she said, softly. "No. I cannot guess. Ah, you said something about Lord Lackington?" She hesitated. Then her color deepened. "You don't know my story. You suppose, don't you, that I am a Belgian with English connections, whom Lady Henry met by chance? Isn't that how you explain me?" Warkworth had pushed aside his cup. "I thought--" He paused in embarrassment, but there was a sparkle of astonished expectancy in his eyes. "My mother"--she looked away into the blaze of the fire, and her voice choked a little--"my mother was Lord Lackington's daughter." "Lord Lackington's daughter?" echoed Warkworth, in stupefaction. A rush of ideas and inferences sped through his mind. He thought of Lady Blanche--things heard in India--and while he stared at her in an agitated silence the truth leaped to light. "Not--not Lady Rose Delaney?" he said, bending forward to her. She nodded. "My father was Marriott Dalrymple. You will have heard of him. I should be Julie Dalrymple, but--they could never marry--because of Colonel Delaney." Her face was still turned away. All the details of that famous scandal began to come back to him. His companion, her history, her relations to others, to himself, began to appear to him in the most astonishing new lights. So, instead of the mere humble outsider, she belonged all the time to the best English blood? The society in which he had met her was full of her kindred. No doubt the Duchess knew--and Montresor.... He was meshed in a net of thoughts perplexing and confounding, of which the total result was perhaps that she appeared to him as she sat there, the slender outline so quiet and still, more attractive and more desirable than ever. The mystery surrounding her in some way glorified her, and he dimly perceived that so it must have been for others. "How did you ever bear the Bruton Street life?" he said, presently, in a low voice of wonder. "Lady Henry knew?" "Oh yes!" "And the Duchess?" "Yes. She is a connection of my mother's." Warkworth's mind went back to the Moffatts. A flush spread slowly over the face of the young officer. It was indeed an extraordinary imbroglio in which he found himself. "How did Lord Lackington take it?" he asked, after a pause. "He was, of course, much startled, much moved. We had a long talk. Everything is to remain just the same. He wishes to make me an allowance, and, if he persists, I suppose I can't hurt him by refusing. But for the present I have refused. It is more amusing to earn one's own living." She turned to him with a sharp brightness in her black eyes. "Besides, if Lord Lackington gives me money, he will want to give me advice. And I would rather advise myself." Warkworth sat silent a moment. Then he took a great resolve.