It was now my turn to be amazed. The fact that she had penetrated my disguise was disconcerting in the extreme. She soon set me at ease, however, by telling me that her suspicions were not aroused until I smiled at her fierce threats. “No one in Yorke laughs in my presence when I am angry,” was her explanation. “But then, Michael, I knew you were somewhere about in disguise and I have seen more of you than any one else in the city. I do not think that you need to fear that he will recognize you.” “I hope not,” was my answer. Another meeting that I had already had helped to dispel my fears. On my way to Marmaduke Hall I had encountered Pierre. I accosted him boldly and inquired my way. Yet Pierre, who had actually seen me since my change—though, to be sure, he had seen me only by dim moonlight—even he failed to show the least sign of recognition. Now that my mistress knew who I was, I broached a subject that had already been matter of conversation between us. It was whether we should let the Earl know of our present undertaking. Lady Marmaduke had already told me that the time would come when we should have to jog our own way if we jogged at all. She seemed to think that that time had come, though I had serious doubts about it. “No, Michael, we must not tell him now. In fact, I sounded him this afternoon in a roundabout way without mentioning names. What do you think he said? He took up a book from the table. You know he is a great reader and this was one of those ancient history books where he says the old play writers got their stage stories from. He said that it told about once upon a time when Pompey—he was a Roman general, you know—had Caesar and Antony and Lepidus to dinner with him on one of his ships. One of Pompey’s officers came to him and said that if he would cut the cables that held his ship he could put out to sea and he would have all his enemies in his power. You see Pompey was at war with the other three and they had met to arrange a peace.” “What did Pompey do?” I inquired of my lady. “Just what I asked the Earl. Would you believe it? Pompey was too nice for that kind of thing, and because he felt he could not do it honorably himself, he got mad at his officer and cursed him roundly for not having done it himself, instead of telling him about it. Such a service should have been performed before he was consulted. Then it had been a service indeed. It was very amusing to see the Earl’s eyes twinkle as he told this story. I could not resist the temptation to tease him. “‘What if I have acted on Pompey’s advice,’ said I, ‘and have come to tell you that it is already done?’ “That greatly agitated him. ‘You cannot. For the world, I would not have you take me seriously. I could not descend to such dishonest practices as that.’ “This made me wince, and I was minded to give him a sharp answer. But I did not. I put him off with excuses and he is none the wiser. You do not still think we had better tell him, do you?”