"She told me this morning that the instant I felt I couldn't stand the old lady any longer, she'd give me a job on the spot. As a matter-of-fact, she went so far as to say she'd be willing to pay me more money if I felt the slightest inclination to leave my present position at once." The Marchioness smiled faintly. "No other recommendation necessary, eh?" "Beg pardon?" "In other words, she is willing to accept you at your face value." "I daresay I have a competent face," he acknowledged, his smile broadening into a grin. "Designed especially for women," said she. He coloured. "Oh, I say, that's a bit rough." "And thoroughly approved by men," she added. "That's better," he said. "I'm not a ladies' man, you know,--thank God." His face clouded. "Is Lady Jane ill?" "Apparently not. She merely telephoned to say it would be impossible to come." She eyed him shrewdly. "Do you know anything about it, young man?" "Have you seen her,--lately?" he parried. "Yesterday afternoon," she answered, keeping her eyes upon his half-averted face. "See here, Eric Temple," she broke out suddenly, "she is unhappy--most unhappy. I am not sure that I ought to tell you--and yet, you are in love with her, so you should know. Now, don't say you are not in love with her! Save your breath. The trouble is, you are not the only man who is in that peculiar fix." "I know," he said, frowning darkly. "She's being annoyed by that infernal blighter." "Oho, so you _do_ know, then?" she cried. "She was very careful to leave you out of the story altogether. Well, I'm glad you know. What are you going to do about it?" "I? Why,--why, what _can_ I do?" "There is a great deal you can do." "But she has laid down the law, hard and fast. She won't let me," he groaned. The Marchioness blinked rapidly. "Well, of all the stupid,--Say that again, please." "She won't let me. I would in a second, you know,--no matter if it did land me in jail for--" "What are you talking about?" she gasped. "Punching his bally head till he wouldn't know it himself in the mirror," he grated, looking at his fist almost tearfully. The Marchioness opened her lips to say something, thought better of it, and turned her head to smile. "Moreover," he went on, "she's right. Might get her into no end of a mess with those people, you see. It breaks my heart to think of her--" "He wants her to run away with him and be married," she broke in. "What!" he almost shouted, glaring at her as if she were the real offender. "You--did she tell you that?" "Yes. He rather favours San Francisco. He wants her to go out there with him and be married by a chap to whom he promised the distinction while they were still in their teens." "The cur! That's his game, is it? Why, that's the foulest trick known to--" "But she isn't going, my friend,--so possess yourself in peace. That's why he is turning off so nasty. He is making things most unpleasant for her."