"Why? You shameless Lothario! Why? Because what's left of my conscience smote me for leaving a lamb amidst a pack of wolves, and wouldn't let me rest; nearly destroyed my digestion, I give you my word. I came down to pluck your innocence alive from the burning, and I've been a fool for my pains. Why, confound you, I not only find you _épris_ with Madame Darcy, but engaged to both the Fitzgerald and Lady Isabelle." "My dear Kent-Lauriston, pray soothe your ruffled feelings; your logic is excellent, but your premises are one and all false." "What!" "I say there's nothing between Madame Darcy and myself, and that I'm neither engaged to Miss Fitzgerald nor Lady Isabelle." "But, my dear Stanley, I've heard----" "But, my dear Kent-Lauriston, you've heard wrongly." "What--isn't Madame Darcy here?" "Yes." "And haven't you seen her?" "Yes." "And walked with her early in the morning?" "Yes." "And breakfasted with her, _tête-à-tête_ at a farmhouse?" "Yes." "And hasn't her husband challenged you to a duel on her account?" "Yes." "And didn't he, moreover, catch you in the act of proposing to Miss Fitzgerald?" "Yes." "And haven't you asked the Marchioness for Lady Isabelle's hand?" "Yes." "And in the face of all this--you attempt to deny----" "In the face of all this--circumstantial evidence--I'm quite prepared to deny everything. Would you like to hear the _facts_ of the case?" "Rather!" As will have been inferred, the two men had the smoking-room entirely to themselves, and the best part of an hour passed before the Secretary had finished his account of events with which the reader is familiar. Kent-Lauriston heard him out with great interest, and after drawing a long breath, at the close of his recital, remarked:-- "I think I shall be fully repaid for any inconvenience to which I've put myself on your account. This whole affair is most interesting, and, believe me, there's more in it than appears on the surface." "I feel the same way myself," replied the Secretary; "but let us hear your views on the subject." "First," replied his friend, "you must assure me of how you yourself stand. Are you still in your unregenerate state, or have you yet begun to see the fruits of your folly?" The young diplomat was silent for a long time, but finally he said, looking up into Kent-Lauriston's face with an almost appealing glance: "I'm afraid you would think me awfully caddish if I told you the truth about it." "About the state of your affections for Miss Fitzgerald, you mean?" "Yes." "Of course, I shouldn't think you justified in making a public declaration of a change of sentiment, because it might seem to reflect on the lady, but in my case it's very different. Having spoken so frankly and freely on the subject already, I might almost say that you owe it to me to continue to do so. Certainly I've given you no cause for reticence by anything I've done, and, as certainly, you must confide fully in me if you wish my help in the future."