"Why should I help you? How do you know that I take any interest in--in these two persons?" "You forget," he said, softly. "I saw your face." She started. There was something in the bold audacity of the man that proved him the master. "If I admit that I do take some interest, what proof have I that I shall be following that interest by confiding in you?" she asked, haughtily, but less haughtily than hitherto. "I can give you a sufficient proof," he said, quietly. "I--love--her." She started. There was so calm and cool and yet intense an expression in his voice. "You love her?" she repeated. "The girl who has just left us?" "The young lady," he said, with a slight emphasis, "who has just plighted her troth to Lord Leycester Wyndward." There was silence for a moment. His direct statement of the case had told on her. "And if I help you--if I consent--what shape is my assistance to take?" "I leave that to you," he said. "I can answer for her, for Stella Etheridge--that is her name." "I do not wish to mention names," she said, coldly. "Quite right," he said. "Trees have ears, as you and I have just proved." She shuddered at the familiar, confident tone in his voice. "I will not mention names," he repeated, "let us say 'him' and 'her.' Candidly--and between us, my lady, there should be nothing but candor--I have sworn that nothing shall come of this betrothal. I love her, and--I--hate him." She looked at him. His face was deadly white, and his eyes gleamed, but a smile still played about his lips. "You," he continued, "hate her, and--love--him." Lady Lenore started, and a crimson flush of shame stained her fair face. "How dare you!" she exclaimed. He smiled. "I have shown you my hand, my lady; I know yours. Will you tell me that I am wrong? Say the word--say that you are indifferent how matters go--and I will make my bow and leave you." She stood and looked at him--she could not say the word. He had spoken the truth; she did love Lord Leycester with a passion that surprised her, with a passion that had not made itself known to her until to-night, when she had seen him take into his arms another woman--had heard his protestations of love for another woman, and seen him kiss another woman. Wounded pride, self-love, passionate desire, all fought for mastery within her bosom, and the man who stood calmly before her knew it. He read every thought of her heart as it was mirrored on the proud, beautiful face. "I do not understand," she said. "You come to me a perfect stranger, and make these confessions." He smiled. "I come to you because you and I desire to accomplish one end--the separation of these two persons. I come to you because I have already found some means toward such an end, and I believe you are capable of devising and carrying out the remainder. Lady Lenore----" "Do not utter my name," she said, looking round uneasily.