“I didn't say that,” said Drake, and then the lines of pain came back. “At the request of her people I brought her up to London. Naturally they will look to me for news of her, and I feel responsible for her welfare.” “If that is so, you must pardon me for saying you've taken your duty lightly,” said Drake. John Storm gripped the rail of the chair in front of him, and there was silence for a moment. “Whatever I may have to blame myself with in the past, it would relieve me to find her well and happy and safe from all harm.” “She _is_ well and happy, and safe too--I can tell you that much.” There was another moment of silence, and then John Storm said in broken sentences and in a voice that was struggling to control itself: “I have known her since she was a child, sir---You can not think how many tender memories---It is nearly a year since I saw her, and one likes to see old friends after an absence.” Drake did not speak, but he dropped his head, for John's eyes had begun to fill. “We were good friends too. Boy and girl comrades almost. Brother and sister, I should say, for that was how I liked to think of myself--her elder brother bound to take care of her.” There was a little trill of derisive laughter from the other side of the room, where Lord Robert had put the spray down noisily and turned to look out into the street. Then John Storm drew himself up and said in a firm voice: “Gentlemen, why should I mince matters? I will not do so. The girl we speak of is more to me than anybody else in the world besides. Perhaps she was one of the reasons why I went into that monastery. Certainly she is the reason I have come out of it. I have come to find her. I _shall_ find her. If she is in difficulty or danger I intend to save her. Will you tell me where she is?” “Mr. Storm,” said Drake, “I am sorry, very sorry, but what you say compels me to speak plainly. The lady is well and safe and happy. If her friends are anxious about her she can reassure them for herself, and no doubt she has already done so. But in the position she occupies at present you are a dangerous man. It might not be her wish, and it would not be to her advantage, to meet with you, and I can, not allow her to run the risk.” “Has it come to that? Have you a right to speak for her, sir?” “Perhaps I have----” Drake hesitated, and then said with a rush, “the right to protect her against a fanatic.” John Storm curbed himself; he had been through a long schooling. “Man, be honest,” he said. “Either your interest is good or bad, selfish or unselfish. Which is it?” Drake made no answer. “But it would be useless to bandy words. I didn't come here to do that. Will you tell me where she is?” “No.” “Then it is to be a duel between us--is that so? You for the girl's body and I for her soul? Very well, I take your challenge.” There was silence once more, and John Storm's eyes wandered about the room. They fixed themselves at length on the sketch by the pier-glass.