"I wonder why she is so down on me and so chummy with Kingsland," he thought. "If she'd seen him on my launch on the Thames, she might think twice before entrusting her daughter to his charge. Well, it's none of my business, any more than my affairs are the business of Lady Isabelle." He was just a little annoyed at the persistency with which his friends joined in crying down a woman, who, whatever her faults might be, possessed infinite fascination, and was, he honestly believed, not half so bad as she was painted. He told himself that he must seek the first opportunity that circumstances gave him at Mrs. Roberts' house-party, to have a serious talk with Miss Fitzgerald and warn her, as gently as he could, of what was being said about her. Then he recollected with a start, that he had decided not to go, that he had promised to write a refusal and--no, that he had _not_ written. He would do so at once. His latch-key was in his hand. He opened the door. There was his valet, Randell, standing in the hall, but with a look on his face which caused Stanley to question him as to its meaning, before he did anything else. "Puzzled? I am a bit puzzled. That's a fact, sir," Randell replied to his question. "And it's about that lady," indicating the Secretary's sitting-room with a jerk of his thumb. "What lady?" "Why, the lady as come here half an hour ago, with her luggage, and said she was going to stay." "Randell, are you drunk or dreaming? I know of no lady," cried Stanley, amazed. "Well, you can see for yourself, sir," replied the valet, throwing open the door. The Secretary stepped in, and confronted--Madame Darcy. CHAPTER VII AN IRATE HUSBAND "Madame Darcy!" he exclaimed, too astonished not to betray in some measure his emotions. Then following the direction of her eyes, and noting the interrogatory glance, which she threw at Randell, he signed to his valet to leave them together. "To what have I the honour----" he began abruptly, his voice showing some trace of the irritation he was not quite able to suppress. Surely, he thought, Inez De Costa, large as the liberty of her youth might have been, must know that in England, worse still in London, a lady cannot visit a bachelor's apartments alone, without running great danger of having her actions misconstrued. She, with true feminine intuition, was none the less keen to realise the awkwardness of the situation, and to suffer more acutely because of the inconvenience to which she was putting him.