He wondered how far Jane had gone in her confidences. Had she told the Marchioness everything? "Why doesn't she leave the place?" he demanded, as a feeler. Lady Jane had told the Marchioness everything, and a great deal more besides, including, it may be said, something touching upon her own feelings toward Lord Temple. But the Marchioness was under imperative orders. Not for the world, was Thomas Trotter to know that Miss Emsdale, among others, was a perfect fool about him. "She must have her bread and butter, you know," said she severely. "But she can get that elsewhere, can't she?" "Certainly. She can get it by marrying some decent, respectable fellow and all that sort of thing, but she can't get another place in New York as governess if the Smith-Parvis establishment turns her out with a bad name." He swallowed hard, and went a little pale. "Of course, she isn't thinking of--of getting married." "Yes, she is," said the Marchioness flatly. "Has--has she told you that in so many words, Marchioness?" he asked, his heart going to his boots. "Is it fair to ask that question, Lord Temple?" "No. It isn't fair. I have no right to pry into her affairs. I'm--I'm desperately concerned, that's all. It's my only excuse." "It isn't strange that she should be in love, is it?" "But I--I don't see who the deuce she can have found over here to--to fall in love with," he floundered. "There are millions of good, fine Americans, my friend. Young Smith-Parvis is one of the exceptions." "He isn't an American," said Lord Temple, savagely. "Don't insult America by mentioning his name in--" "Please, please! Be careful not to knock over the lamp, dear boy. It's Florentine, and Count Antonio says it came from some dreadful sixteenth-century woman's bedroom, price two hundred guineas net. She's afraid she's being watched." "She? Oh, you mean Lady Jane?" "Certainly. The other woman has been dead for centuries. Jane thinks it isn't safe for her to come here for a little while. There's no telling what the wretch may stoop to, you see." Lord Temple squared his shoulders. "I don't see how you can be so cheerful about it," he said icily. "I fear it isn't worth while to ask the favour I came to--er--to ask of you tonight." "Don't be silly. Tell me what I can do for you." "It isn't for me. It's for her. I came early tonight so that we could talk it all over before any one else arrived. I've slept precious little the last few nights, Marchioness." His brow was furrowed as with pain. "In the first place, you will agree that she cannot remain in that house up there. That's settled." As she did not offer any audible support, he demanded, after a pause: "Isn't it?" "I daresay she will have something to say about that," she said, temporizing. "She is her own mistress, you know." "But the poor girl doesn't know where to turn," he protested. "She'd chuck it in a second if something else turned up." "I spoke of marriage, you will remember," she remarked, drily.